The Sell-Out
by The Goliath Beetle
Summary: Lovino is plotting against his family. Antonio is his psychopathic partner. Meanwhile, Detectives Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones have a crime syndicate to bring down. Mafia AU. Spamano. Dark!Spain. Rated for language and possible gore in later chapters. - DISCONTINUED -
1. Zero

The Sell-Out

 **A/N: Hey! So this is the Mafia AU I've wanted to write since** _ **the beginning of time.**_ **I don't know if I'll continue it. I've written it on a whim, because I need some Mafia!Spamano in my life.**

 **Lars Jansen – Netherlands.**

 **Romeo Vargas - Seborga.**

 **I'm sorry for any inaccuracies. This whole thing basically exists because I supplement my healthy love for crime shows with generous dollops of Godfather fangirling.**

 **This is set in** _ **a fictional place.**_ **Also, I've used 2P North Italy (Luciano) and 2P South Italy (Flavio) as separate characters in this fic. But they're minor characters, for the most part.**

* * *

"You the new transfer?" Arthur Kirkland didn't turn when he heard the footsteps – he spoke out of habit, his voice plain and bored. Stirring his tea in the break room, the man in the fading brown suit just squinted through a mild headache, one he got on and off from his sleepless nights spent working in yellow lighting.

"Uh, yeah. I'm Detective Alfred Jones? Are you Arthur Kirkland?"

Arthur finally turned, holding his teacup at his chin. The kid before him was so _typical._ He had the same rookie hope in his blue eyes. His brown suit, however, didn't look as good on him as the colour did on Arthur. "Arthur Kirkland, Organised Crime. Tea?"

Alfred wrinkled his nose slightly. "Coffee for me." He went up to the counter to make a fresh pot. "So we're partners, huh? Cool, cool."

"How much experience do you have in Organised Crime? The chief said you were pretty good."

Alfred shrugged. "Not much, really. I started out in Narcotics but then switched my division five years ago. It's more…hah, dramatic?" his lips quirked upwards in a grin, as though he'd thought of an inside joke he wasn't about to share. "But I hear you're a legend."

Kirkland sipped his tea. "An aspiring legend."

"Ah."

There was a short silence, and Arthur idly listened to the whirring of ceiling fans and the sizzle of boiling water in the break room. Outside, other detectives and officers pored over files and computers. Arthur dug into his pocket to look for one of his headache pills. He couldn't find any.

"So, what's the sit here?"

Arthur blinked and looked at Alfred, who was staring back with him in all seriousness. "What the bloody hell is a _sit_?"

"Situation?" Alfred replied as though this should have been obvious.

"For pity's sake, don't use those abominable abbreviations!"

Alfred wrinkled his nose again. "And what, sound like you?"

Oh hell. Arthur could already guess how it was going to be to work with this chap. And from the slow widening of Alfred's eyes, Detective Jones had caught on too.

* * *

The Sicily Mansion was the heavily fortified headquarters of the Vargas family business. Don Romulus Vargas sat at the head of the table, with his three grandsons – Lovino, Feliciano and fourteen-year-old Romeo, sitting on his right. On the left were the cousins – the twins Luciano and Flavio, and Don Vargas's close family friends and business associates: Francis Bonnefoy and the German brothers: Ludwig 'Badblood' Beilschidmt and the albino, Gilbert. Next to Gilbert was his wife, Elizabeta, the only woman.

All of them had their heads bowed as Don Vargas said Grace.

Until the old man suddenly gasped, his eyes wide and his head back. " _Mio dio_ , I'm having a heart attack." And then he fell off his chair.

* * *

"What I have – the only thing I have – is information. Profiles. Mostly rumours. But, well, it's better than nothing." Arthur dumped a box full of files on his desk, opposite which Alfred sat with his third cup of coffee. "As you know, the city's taken by two major groups – "

"I know. The Italians and the Russians. Vargas and Braginsky." He waved his hand in the air as though to speed Arthur along.

"They're competitors. Drugs, arms, money laundering. The Italians huge property in the industrial areas. Romulus is established, everyone knows him, respects him. That's a big thing with them – respect."

"I've watched the Godfather movies, dude. I know."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Vargas is more powerful than Braginsky, since the Russians are newer. There's been some bad blood between them, but I'll get to that in a bit. Let's start with Don Romulus Vargas, okay?"

"'Kay."

Arthur dropped a file before Alfred, full of paper clippings and celebrity images. "I bet he's got dirty politicians. He's _never_ been convicted of anything?"

"Oh, all the top brass are in his pockets." Arthur made a face. "Politicians, judges…even our last police chief."

"I heard about that."

"Well, this new one scares them." Last week, Chief Lars Jansen had taken the post with a fearsome vow to destroy organised crime in the city – a declaration backed by his reputation and cold, serious demeanor.

"Romulus's family – his wife, his son and his daughter-in-law, mainly – were killed in a car bomb seven years ago, planted there by Yao Wang and Kiku Honda. This started a mob war between the Italians and the Asians."

"The Wang family, right?" Alfred confirmed. "They were wiped out in the war?"

"The very same." Arthur took a sip of his tea, now cold, and placed it back on the coaster with a grimace. "It's around the time of the war that you start hearing things about the grandson, Lovino."

He handed Alfred another file, with the face of a young Lovino Vargas with a bruised cheek and a gold-eyed glare from hell. "That picture was taken when he was seventeen. He was arrested and sentenced to juvie for Assault and Battery – the kid has a temper on him – but his grandpa cleared his name. Now Lovino," Arthur tapped the file, "is our main problem. He's twenty-four now, next in line for the crime empire, hell of a crack-shot. You _do not_ want this kid to be pointing a gun at you. He's very protective of his younger brother, Feliciano 'Feli' Vargas. I want to see if we can use this to get him."

"You don't have a picture of this 'Feli'?"

"He's not a combatant. Never been arrested, has no record. But I've heard he's the _consigliere_. The Don's advisor. He's quite young, but apparently he has a very sound mind. Then you have Francis Bonnefoy…" Arthur's tone hardened. "That French sonofabitch. I almost had him this one time, but he got away. Shot me in the arm, too."

Alfred winced.

"Bonnefoy is…" Arthur's hand waved around, as though trying to physically search for the right word in the stale office air. "I'll be frank: Bonnefoy is a professional torturer. But his weakness is women. He likes to charm them, and he'll take anyone. So maybe we can use that against him."

"What about the German brothers?" Alfred piped up. "There's some shit there, I know for a fact."

Arthur's smile turned a little dark. "Them. Well. They used to work for the Russians. Ivan Braginsky and Gilbert Beilschmidt actually grew up together, best friends."

"Wow. What happened?"

"I'm not sure. But Gilbert suddenly defected, and Ludwig followed. They've been with the Vargas family for oh, seven years now?"

"So they defected during the war?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's not so surprising."

Arthur took out another file from the box and held onto this one for a moment longer before passing it over to Alfred. "There's also…him."

Alfred opened the file, to a single sheet with a single name on it. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo? Who the hell is that? There's nothing here."

"I'm not even sure if he's real," Arthur admitted slowly. "There are just whispers of his name now and then. He's almost like an urban legend."

Alfred leaned in, excited. "Yeah? And what does legend say?"

"Legend says he's Vargas's secret weapon. This man was supposedly seventeen or eighteen when he won the war for the Italians. He's a hitman. The only man, it seems, who makes Don Vargas nervous."

Alfred took a loud, appreciative sip of his coffee.

That was when Arthur's phone started to scream.

* * *

"Feli, calm down, it's okay…" Ludwig said awkwardly, patting his crying friend's shoulder. Lovino rolled his eyes, crossing and uncrossing his legs. These _stupid fucking_ hospital chairs were so uncomfortable! Luciano and Flavio (Lovino couldn't stand his cousins, even though they had their uses) were sitting on opposite sides of Romeo. Luciano had his eyes closed. Flavio was trying to keep Romeo from crying.

Francis was speaking with a nurse – either trying to coax information out of her, or trying to get into her pants. Or both. Probably both. Gilbert, at least, was pacing up and down the length of the waiting room, nervous.

"Oh God," Feli wept as he blew into another tissue. "I kept telling Grandpa to take better care of his health, but he never did." He stood on trembling legs. "I need to go to a church."

Lovino glanced towards Ludwig. "Go with him. And then take him home."

"Yes," Ludwig replied stiffly, standing up to accompany him. Elizabeta, who'd just exited the restroom, followed Ludwig as well.

Francis approached Lovino. "Bad news. That beautiful nurse was rather…vague about his condition. But I gather that he's still touch-and-go."

Lovino only swallowed. "Get me a coffee, would you?" He glanced towards Gilbert. "Beilschmidt!"

The albino walked up to Lovino and sat in an empty chair next to him. "What?"

"Take the kids home."

The kids being his cousins, and Romeo. "Then stay there. Make sure the press doesn't find out shit."

"Yeah. Fine." Gilbert went to the water dispenser at the corner of the room, filled a small paper cup and emptied it on Luciano's head. Luciano woke up with a curse, and only Gilbert's red-eyed glare stopped him from reaching for the knife hidden in his coat. "Get up, bitches, we're going home. Flavio, Romeo, now!"

Francis had already left for the coffee, and now, Lovino was alone.

He reached for his phone and dialed a number.

" _Do you know what time it is?"_ snapped the voice at the end of the line.

"Vash." Lovino made his name sound like silk. "That thing I asked you to do the other day."

"… _Yes?"_

"Is it done?"

" _Yes. I only need the signatures of the named parties. Yours and Feliciano's."_

"Good." Lovino stared at the pale blue wall of the waiting room. "I think it's time."

" _Oh? Has something happened?"_

"Maybe. Just keep it all ready."

" _All right, Lovino."_

"Thanks."

" _Lovino?"_

"Yeah?"

" _Are you sure you know what you're doing?"_

Lovino smiled to himself. "Yeah. I'm sure. Goodnight."

Francis returned with two coffees. And they sat beside each other, wordless, waiting.

* * *

"Hello?" Arthur pressed his phone to his ear, and Alfred saw his green eyes go wider and wider. "That's bloody huge! I - are you sure? No, I understand. Yes. Okay. Bye." He put his phone down with trembling fingers. To Alfred, he said, "so that was one of my men. He's been watching the Sicily Mansion - where the Vargas stay? - for a while now. Guess what? They had to rush the old fucker to a hospital. Heart attack or something."

"You're not serious!" Alfred jumped to his feet, excitement shooting in his blood, making his fingers cold. "If the Don dies, then we need to get Lovino! And Lovino looks a bit like an ass. He already has a record, right? This is so fucking good. What's our next move, boss?"

Arthur sighed, pressing his forefingers to his lips in thought. "Tomorrow. First, let's wait for the old guy to die."

* * *

It was half past two when the nurse walked up to Francis and Lovino - both dozing lightly - and poked Francis in the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

They both awoke in the same moment, their eyes panicked for a second, before remembering their surroundings. The nurse smiled down at them.

"Y-yes?" Francis mumbled rubbing his face. "What is it, my dear?"

She giggled at him before cheerfully adding, "I just spoke to the doctor. Mr. Vargas is going to be perfectly fine."

Lovino's eyes closed in what looked like relief.

And he thought, _oh, for fuck's sake._

"Francis, call the others." Lovino got to his feet, pretended to blink some tears away before saying, "I need a moment."

Hiding in a far corner, Lovino sent a single message.

 **Put the plans on hold.**

Despite the hour, Vash replied. **Lovino,** **y** **ou're really fucking erratic.**

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review! And again – I'm sorry if I don't continue this. I don't actually have the time for one more project (I've taken on too many. Plus, there's college.) But I'll try. Thanks! See ya!**


	2. Guns Hidden Under Our Petticoats

**A/N: I know you guys are waiting for the Spamano! But I'll need a chapter or two to establish the plot, and then it's Spamano all the way! Bear with me *multiple heart emojis***

* * *

 _Fun Facts about Romulus Vargas's Italian Mafia_

Naturally, Romulus Vargas is the Don, the 'capofamiglia' or 'rappresentante'.

His eldest grandson, Lovino, is the underboss, the sotto capo, the second-in-command. His younger grandson, Feliciano, is, as you know, the consigliere, the advisor.

The Don has several groups, 'decina', of soldiers working under his three favourite capodecinas: Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ludwig Beilschmidt and Francis Bonnefoy.

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

"Thank _God_!" Feliciano cried, before his eyes hardened and his lips turned into a pout. "Honestly, _Nonno_ , you need to improve your lifestyle!" He suddenly fell to tears, throwing his arms around his frail, paper-white grandfather. "I'm just glad you're okay."

In the room were Lovino, Romeo and the twins. The others were all waiting outside. Despite everything, they weren't family. They didn't get to see the Don along with the rest. Romeo went next. He was quiet today, his eyes distant. Lovino would have to make sure he was all right. He and Romeo were alike that way – they didn't express pain very often. Romeo curled up on the bed beside his grandfather, and Lovino could see his fingers tremble very slightly. It was the only visible sign of distress.

"You scared us," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry," their grandfather replied. "But it's fine now." He kissed his two grandsons on the forehead. "It's all going to be fine." With twinkling eyes, he looked up at Lovino, standing at a slight distance from the bed. "Lovi? Don't look so awkward there. Come closer."

Lovino only nodded, stepping forward and kissing his grandfather's cheek. "I'm so relieved, _Nonno._ " His throat burned suddenly, his eyes stung. In barely a whisper, he added, "you're all we have left."

Lovino loved his grandfather more than words could express. Lovino loved his grandfather so much, sometimes it scared him.

But Lovino also _hated_ his grandfather, and while he would never do anything to hurt the man, Lovino secretly wished his _Nonno_ would simply die.

* * *

It was nearly six am by the time they made it home. Gilbert and Elizabeta had left together, promising to return first thing tomorrow. Francis was asleep on the couch. Ludwig had left too, but only because Feli forced him. ("Luddy, if you don't get enough rest, you'll just be grumpy tomorrow, and you're no fun when you're grumpy.") Flavio and Luciano were in their rooms, doing whatever the hell those two did. Lovino didn't get them, didn't like them, and frankly, neither did _Nonno._ (That's why he insisted they stay in the Sicily Mansion – so he could keep a close eye on them.)

Their grandfather was in his room now, with an attendant watching over every need. (He refused to stay a minute longer than necessary in the hospital.) Lovino made sure Feli was also in bed before he knocked on Romeo's door.

As expected, his youngest brother was awake, sitting on his bed, watching Youtube videos. He pulled out his earphones when Lovino walked in, and glanced towards the window to avoid eye-contact.

"What's up?" Lovino said bluntly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Oh fuck off."

"Don't you use that kind of language on me, I'll stuff your head down the toilet."

Romeo rolled his eyes. "You use it all the time."

"Precisely." Lovino smirked. "It's _my_ thing."

"Whatever," Romeo huffed. "Do you need anything?"

"Yeah. I need you to tell me your feelings and shit so we can both cry together and forget this ever happened, like the manly men we are." How Lovino said that with a straight face, he didn't know. But his little brother snorted, so at least it cheered him up a bit.

"I was just thinking about mom and dad," Romeo replied, his voice plain. He played with the cuffs of his sleeves. Lovino wasn't exactly surprised by the response. His kid brother had been only seven when he was suddenly orphaned, and the swiftness and the violence by which it had happened still haunted all of them. The war that followed had been hard on everyone. They'd lost so many friends, so many familiar faces. "Do you remember, on Christmas, _Nonna_ would make this amazing meat pie, and you and Feli would _always_ fight over the last piece?"

Lovino stared at a spot of lint on the rug. "Yeah, I remember. And because we'd fight, she'd give the last piece to you."

Romeo chuckled. "I miss her. And…you know, I was just thinking about what would happen if _Nonno_ died too. Who'd take care of us?"

Lovino reached out and flicked his brother's forehead. "Are you an idiot? What am _I_ here for? I'm the eldest. I'll take care of you."

"That's reassuring," Romeo muttered, although from the grin on his face and his eye-roll, Lovino knew he was only kidding. "You're going to take over the family business, right?"

"You know it."

His brother chewed his lower lip, suddenly uncertain. "I have a horrible question for you."

"Go on?" Lovino raised an eyebrow.

"If _you're_ inheriting virtually everything – everything big, anyway – you must be…I don't know…a little bit…keen on grandpa dying?" As soon as he said it, Romeo rubbed his face. "I'm sorry. I sound like a dick."

Lovino just blinked. "Yeah, you do. I don't want him to die."

"I know." Romeo covered his face. "I know. I'm sorry."

Lovino ruffled his hair. "It's okay. It was just a question. Now turn off the computer and go to sleep. Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"As if I'm going!"

Lovino flicked his forehead again. "We'll see. Go to bed. Now." He stood, and suddenly, there was something far more overbearing about him. He was channeling the future _Don Lovino Vargas_. The sort of person who gave orders and expected them to be followed. Romeo wilted under his brother's stare, shut his laptop and put it aside. "That's better," Lovino said softly. "Good night."

"Night," Romeo muttered. Lovino almost kissed him on the forehead. But he didn't.

* * *

When Feliciano opened the door, Elizabeta was standing there with a tired smile and poorly-done makeup, a large glass dish in her hands. "Morning, Feli. How's Don Vargas? I hope he's better. I didn't know what to make for him, I'm not sure what he can eat. But I've got these vegetables in a nice dressing. Vegetables are always good for you."

Feli kissed her on both cheeks, gave her a quick hug and said, "Thank you, Lizzie. Come inside." It was seven am, and the adults were awake. Well, Flavio and Luciano were still asleep, but they were widely considered to be the family deadbeats anyway, so nobody was surprised. The only reason why they were tolerated was because they were a pair of very ruthless, very efficient killers. Sometimes, they even freaked Francis out, and _Francis tortured his victims for fun._

Romeo was asleep as well, but he was the youngest, and treated like a baby anyway. Sure, he'd try to throw his weight around ("I'm fourteen, I'm not a kid!") but his protests went ignored.

Gilbert followed his wife in, looking equally sleepless. In his hands was a stack of newspapers almost up to his chin. "I stopped at every newspaper stand on the way here and bought an issue of everything they had, and just look at this shit! I tried to keep the press out of it. I called all the contacts we had and everything. Fucking asswipes, the lot of them."

He dumped the newspapers on the nearest table, and sipping his cup of coffee, Lovino picked one up. Feli took another, and Francis read over his shoulder.

All the papers had the same sort of articles.

 _Syndicate Leader Suffers Heart Attack_

 _Romulus Vargas Has Heart Attack_

 _Don Vargas Ailing_

"These journalists!" Gilbert snapped and started ranting in rapid German.

Ludwig, who'd arrived only moments before his brother, pressed the lit end of his cigarette straight into the front page of _The Times_. "Well, you know what I think about journalists. Like flies hovering over shit."

Lovino just ran a hand through his hair. Out of all of them, he looked the worst. His eyes were red with sleep and his face was set into a mild scowl from being more sensitive to irritation. "Don't act so surprised. One of the doctors missed have tipped these fuckers off."

"We can find out who did it and deal with them," Francis suggested, his voice slightly excited.

"Don't bother. It was bound to happen. Just don't show these papers to grandpa, or he's going to get really pissed."

The newspapers, anyway, had their effect. All the phones had been disconnected, the mansion had five times more security than usual, and more than anything, there were the cards. Flowers, cards, food, good wishes, weeping ladies and vaguely emotional men all came to meet the Don, to pray for his swift recovery, and after the first fifty visitors, Lovino drew the line. He had Gilbert and Ludwig stand at the door with automatic machine guns, and slowly, the crowd trickled away.

Lovino was thrilled.

But his cousins found something to be pissed about.

"What I don't understand," Flavio said, pouting pathetically as he rifled through the cards on the gifts and flowers, "is why those Russians didn't send anything. No well-wishing, nothing."

"It sends bad signals." Luciano slit a tomato into thin slices. "Bad. Signals."

"What do you want them to do?" Lovino muttered. "Send out pink roses and a scented card with the words, _Get well soon, Romey-Pomey_ or some shit? They keep themselves aloof from us, we keep ourselves aloof from them, it's business as usual. Why fuck with it?"

"We can wipe them out of existence if we tried," Flavio pointed out.

Lovino didn't reply to that. Getting into an argument with these two was pointless, anyway. He just ruffled Flavio's hair, and the younger shrieked, "don't _touch_ my hair, you sonofabitch! I just got highlights and a protein treatment!"

"Whatever."

"We could wipe them out of existence, though," Luciano carried on, staring at the edge of his knife as it dripped tomato juice. (Did these two always have to be so _dramatic_?)

"Thank fuck you two aren't going to be the boss of anything," was all Lovino could say. Could they wipe the Russians out of existence? No. In case of a war, it was far more likely that both families would lose everything. It wasn't worth it. What the two families had was an uneasy peace, and to Lovino, this wasn't good enough.

With his grandfather alive, though, he still had no power to do anything. He _could_ , if he wanted to. He could fix it all. But they'd kill him. And he wouldn't blame them.

* * *

 _The Story of Don Romulus Vargas, Businessman._

He came from poverty, beaten with a belt. The Don of his area gave him a job that would feed his Mama while his alcoholic father blew up their savings. Romulus's job, was, of course, sales. And soon, everyone knew him as Romulus Vargas, cocaine dealer.

One day, he shot his father between the eyes with a revolver, and that was that.

Then he moved up the ranks, fast. When he was deputy, sotto capo, to the Don, he shot the Don between the eyes too. ( _Maybe he just had a problem with father figures_.)

And then he shot all of the Don's supporters. ( _Or maybe, he just wanted power, and took it the classic way._ )

In his journey, he made many friends who kept track of his many enemies. His friends from the government kept his name out of the courts, his friends from the street kept him abreast of developments in the other families.

He had two sons. The eldest son had a daughter. The younger one had three boys.

The eldest son sold information to the Wang family.

Romulus Vargas killed his son with a knife.

He killed his daughter-in-law with a gun.

His granddaughter he killed with gentleness. She was, after all, only four. So he fed her some cake laced with just the right amount of cyanide.

After all, family was one thing. Power was another. He had a choice between the two, and frankly, he probably had one son too many anyway.

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

Vash Zwingli could do anything. This was a fact established across the industry. He could do anything, and he'd do it for anyone, because Vash Zwingli had only one loyalty: money. This was why nobody killed him. Everybody had some stake in his well-being. Whether they needed fake documents, storage space, a new identity, or a place to keep their riches, Vash could provide it all. Everybody hated him a little; he made no distinction between sides, after all. What he did for you, he did for your enemies, and if you didn't like it, well, take a walk. But this also made him the person you trusted above all, because the only thing he needed to switch sides was a better price.

It disgusted Gilbert a little, but that didn't really matter.

"Can you turn that godawful rubbish down?" Francis snapped, reaching to lower the music's volume. Gilbert slapped his hand away.

"My car, my rules. And don't you like the classics? This is Nirvana!"

"It is _not_ , I can assure you."

"What would you listen to then? Silly French love songs?"

"Uh, no. The silly French love songs are for when I have to work."

Gilbert had an image of Francis cutting someone's fingers off to the trill of some French lady singing about the flowers and butterflies, and suppressed an involuntary shiver. To change the subject, he asked, "so who is this kid we're meeting?"

"Some fellow called Thomas Young. I did a background check, and his story is solid. He's been transporting drugs for six years, worked in Colombia and Mexico, big fan of that American football thing…"

"Is that actual football or rugby-football?"

"Rugby-football."

"How is that _football_? I don't get it!"

" _Les Américains_!" Francis exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and shaking his head in confusion. "Anyway, so he has a simple job, and hopefully he won't mess it up, _oui_? All he needs to do is take the shipment from Vash's warehouse and move it to the docks."

"And Lovino needed us to…what, brief him?"

Francis glanced at him for a second. "To remind him of the consequences if he messes up."

"Lovino is a control-freak."

"So is the Don, bless him. It's a good quality. He's going to make for a good successor."

* * *

They had to sign in to be allowed to Zwingli's warehouses, but once they were in front of the right one, Gilbert turned the music off and lowered the windows. "Francis, your kid isn't here yet."

"Five minutes, and I'll call him. I'm shocked he's late."

It was right then that a guy in a crumpled full-sleeved blue shirt and faded black jeans appeared, his blonde hair a stylish mess and his blue eyes shining with good humour. "Hey dudes! You Francis?"

"Great, he's an imbecile," Gilbert muttered, and Francis slapped his shoulder.

"Get out of the car and say hello."

"Yes, mom."

The kid wiped his glasses on his shirt and put them back on, shaking Francis's hand with a quick, firm handshake. He offered to shake Gilbert's too, but Gilbert just ignored him.

"I'll have to search you," Francis said simply.

"Do it." The kid loosened his body. "Just remember, I'm like, super ticklish, 'kay?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. He wasn't paid enough for this rubbish, really.

In the distance, on the roof of a building, Arthur Kirkland lay flat and pressed his binoculars into his face. A smile formed on his lips as he watched the three men talk. The albino – Gilbert Beilschmidt – seemed bored, but Francis Bonnefoy was far more open. They liked Alfred.

Brilliant.

Alfred just had to earn their trust under the alias Thomas Young. Work his way into the organisation and kill it from inside. Arthur have to keep a closer eye on this one, though. He'd lost too many men to this family.

The crux of it all was The Book.

The Book was the Vargas family's _only_ record of accounts. It was the beating heart of their organization, and the one damning piece of evidence that would flush out everything: their businesses, their dealings, their people, and all the bribes they paid to all the public servants, ever.

Get The Book, burn the family.

It was the most complicated simple thing in the world.

* * *

 _Five Fun Facts about Romeo Vargas_

Romeo Vargas loved science. He wanted to be an astrophysicist, and despite sometimes skipping class, he always received the best grades. He read thick, non-fiction books and loved to learn.

His favourite food was _riso alla milanese_. His least favourite food was anything with eggplant.

In the winters, he would still get extreme pleasure from blowing air through his mouth and watching it frost in front of his eyes. He never admitted this to anybody, though, because it made them think he was "a cute little kid."

He had a crush on this sassy Australian exchange student in school. He liked her so much that his usual flirtatious charm would utterly fall apart, and he'd stand there, blubbering and stuttering, until she'd roll her eyes and go away. He'd decided, however, that he would ask her out after the semester finals. They'd go watch a movie and go to the park, and she would start liking him.

Romeo Vargas was going to die. And it was going to happen because of Luciano and Flavio.

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

If Lovino wasn't in his room, reading, it wouldn't have happened.

If Feli wasn't in his grandfather's room, reciting Bible verses to him, it wouldn't have happened.

If Gilbert, Francis and Ludwig weren't playing cards in the kitchen, it would have been completely avoided.

Unfortunately, though, there was nobody watching when Luciano and Flavio opened their cousin Romeo's bedroom door, where he was finishing some homework. "We're heading out. Wanna come?"

"I'm underage," Romeo replied without glancing up.

"We're underage too."

"You're eighteen. You look like you're twenty-two. I'm fourteen. I look like a kid." It wasn't like Romeo didn't want to go out. Flavio and Luciano always had the best club stories. (Admittedly, most of them ended with them getting fucked by crazy chicks with self-esteem issues, but that wasn't the point.) They'd never invited him to anything. And now that they had, Romeo didn't know how to react. If Lovino or Feli knew what was happening, they'd throw a bloody fit. They were only two years apart, and despite their very real differences, when it came to the vital things, they thought alike.

And they were both on the same page about Flavio and Luciano.

The twins were dangerous to everybody.

But they were still his _cousins._ They gave him girl advice and stole his deodorant and let him have their share of dessert (sometimes).

"Stop being a bitch. Are you coming or not?" Flavio said, snatching his books from Romeo's hands and flipping through it. "Oh, what's this? _Mitosis._ Boring." He ripped the page out.

"Hey! Knock it off!"

Before Romeo could reach for his book, Flavio held it up in the air. "Are you coming out with us?" He found another page at random. "This one is _osmosis_ and _transpiration_." He ripped that page out as well. "Come oooon, cousin, come out with us!" He tore out four pages in one go, and Romeo felt something sink in his stomach.

"All right! Stop ruining my book, asshole!" He pushed Flavio in the chest. "I'll come. But does Lovino know?"

Luciano snorted. "Lovino put us up to it. Said you were really upset about grandpa, and how some fun would cheer you up."

"Oh." Romeo blinked, and Flavio dropped his textbook to the floor, stepping on it as he walked to the threshold of the room. "Yeah, I'll come!"

Romeo had eaten a pretty heavy dinner, so he didn't know if he could eat anymore, but if they were going to a club, the dancing and drinking would certainly help him relax.

He sat alone in the back seat as the twins turned the volume up on their (as Francis would say: "uncultured trash music"). The guards at the gates didn't stop them because they were Vargas men, and why would they stop their bosses?

And so the night went on.

They went to the first club (his cousins snuck him in), where Romeo got so sick of the sudden crowds and noise that he had to step outside for air. His cousins followed him out, leaning against the wall and speaking rapidly in slang Italian. They were drunk, of course. Drunk enough that Romeo started to wonder if they'd be able to drive home.

Flavio patted his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Breathless."

"It was a bad club," Luciano agreed.

"Fuck that. Let's just get some drinks and chill somewhere." Flavio straightened his Gucci jacket. "Besides, my clothes are getting crumpled."

They went to one of those twenty-four hour stores, and that was when things started to happen.

They were the only ones there, except for the sleepy guy at the check-out counter.

That was when the woman walked in.

* * *

"Grandpa was asking me how you were handling things."

"Yeah?" Lovino poured them a glass of wine. Francis, Ludwig and Gilbert had gone home, and now that the house was theirs alone, Lovino and Feli could chat.

Feli took the wine glass with a small thanks and drank a sip, saying, "yeah, he said you seemed…stressed. He was just making sure business was running smoothly. You've been kind of distant with him since the heart scare. Have you noticed?"

"I hadn't realised." Lovino rubbed his face tiredly. "I'll apologise tomorrow, get him a nice gift, maybe."

"Oh! Gifts! I love gifts! Do you have any ideas?"

Lovino shrugged. "A pen, maybe? He likes those. The fancy ones with real silver or something."

Feliciano started to laugh. "Lovi, come on. He's a man of class. _Silver_? At least aim for platinum."

The two of them snickered, clinking glasses. "We should keep our voices down," Lovino said after a minute or two. "Romeo's probably studying or something."

Feli laughed again. "What a nerd."

"He's going to go places, just you see."

"Oh, I know _that._ I'm just saying, he's a nerd."

"Loser," Lovino agreed fondly, finishing his wine. "Mama's favourite."

"For sure."

* * *

The three of them recognised her at once. The dark purple dress and pretty bow in her hair. She was Ivan Braginsky's step-sister, Natalya. She had spotted them too, because she glanced their way and pressed her lips together, but didn't look at them again. Luciano kept staring at her, cool and calculating. Flavio started to smirk. "Well, well, well," he whispered, "it's a Russian with no respect."

"What?" Romeo said, lowering his voice on instinct.

"They didn't send us any well-wishes when grandpa had his heart scare," Luciano replied, his voice smooth and full of venom. "It speaks of their lack of class."

"Guys." Romeo could see the identical smirks on their faces. Even Luciano, who wasn't half as belligerent as his twin, was licking his lips as his hand reached deeper and deeper into his jacket. "Guys, just let it be. Please." He didn't have the courage to reach out and hold them back. They made him afraid. Very, very afraid.

Natalya had noticed something amiss too, because she placed the tampon box back on its shelf and narrowed her eyes at the three of them. The guy at the check-out counter had still sensed nothing.

"Guys, no."

Natalya could have – and perhaps would have – walked away and disappeared into the night, but Flavio didn't give her a chance.

"Hello, pretty thing." He swung his gun, a shot rang out, Natalya and Romeo screamed and the check-out guy fell in a pool of blood. Luciano had his gun out too, and Romeo ducked behind an aisle as sudden shots rang out.

Natalya had a knife.

(Right! Gilbert had called her 'Knife-Wielding Natalya' once!)

"Don't you know you shouldn't bring a knife to a gunfight, sweetheart?" Flavio taunted.

"Who are you calling sweetheart, slut?" she shouted. A knife arced in the air and almost hit Luciano. He stepped out of the way just in time. Natalya also had a gun. It was much smaller, and she was much less comfortable with it.

All Romeo could hear next was gunfire. He was curled up tightly, screaming, rocking back-and-forth, wishing for Lovino to please come save him.

And then there was silence.

Flavio started to laugh. "Little whore."

"Good job," Luciano said.

And then Romeo saw them walk out of the store and slip away into the darkness.

They'd forgotten him. Maybe they thought he was dead. It didn't matter. The store was destroyed. Glass everywhere, bullets in the wall, the produce aisle was torn apart, and there were two corpses. Romeo was shaking so badly he could barely stand upright, bile rose to his throat but he forced it away, and he had to tell himself, _walk, walk, one step, another step, walk, walk._

He saw the pile of bleeding flesh that had once been Natalya Arlovskaya and screamed and screamed and screamed.

Then he ran.

* * *

"Romeo, go to sleep already, come on!" Lovino threw his brother's bedroom door open and saw an empty room and a torn up textbook. It took him two seconds to react. "FELI!"

Feliciano, who'd just shut the restroom door behind him, threw it open with a white face. "Lovino! Keep your voice down! What happened?"

"FELI! WHERE'S ROMEO!?"

Feliciano's rapid footsteps came from his bedroom to the hallway, where Lovino was holding torn textbook pages and pacing around. "Flavio. Luciano. They said they were going out. They have him. I'm sure of this. Romeo would never rip his books up!" His palms opened and he ran an anxious hand through his hair.

His younger brother placed both hands on his shoulders. "Calm down. He's fine, I'm sure of it. Let me make some phone calls. You check the other rooms."

Lovino nodded, mute. "Right. Okay. Good idea."

As Lovino sped off, he heard his brother say, "Hello, Francis? Yeah, I need you to check on Romeo's whereabouts?"

* * *

At quarter to two, the commotion suddenly turned more intense as the front door opened and two guards, physically supporting Romeo, brought him inside. Lovino collapsed onto a chair as Gilbert ushered the youngest in and threw a blanket over his shoulders. Romeo was whimpering softly, his eyes red from tears that wet his face. Francis pressed a pill into some warm sugary water and said, "don't talk, just drink."

And after fifteen minutes of haphazard silence, Lovino shot up from the chair, pulled his brother into a hug, and Feliciano joined in, and there was a lot of crying.

"What happened?" Lovino was so winded, he couldn't find the strength to cuss. " _What happened_?" All he could focus on was that while his brother was unhurt, he was definitely not unscathed. The sedative Francis had put into his water had helped calm him down, but he was still crying and panicky.

"Flavio and Luciano," he choked out. "He – they – and the girl –"

Lovino blanched. "What did they do?" He placed both hands on his brother's shoulders. "Romeo, calm down. Listen to me. Slowly. What. Did. They. Do?"

Another tear slid down Romeo's face. "They shot Natalya Arlovskaya."

Feliciano covered his mouth. Gilbert and Ludwig exchanged silent, stunned glances. Francis just gasped. And Lovino stared straight at his youngest brother as he processed this.

Flavio and Luciano killed a Russian.

They killed a Russian.

They. Killed. A. Russian.

"Where did this happen?" Lovino managed to say, his voice quiet, very still.

Romeo stuttered the name of a neighbourhood.

"Okay." Lovino stood. "Gilbert, Ludwig, I want your best team out looking for those two. I don't care if you have to tase them to bring them down. Francis, your team needs to fortify this house. I want extra guards, extra surveillance, extra checks. If a mouse slips in and out of the premises, I want it to be on record, are we clear? Nothing and nobody gets in and out without us knowing about it. Feli, you have to help me move grandpa to the basement."

"The basement?" Feli asked.

"He'll be safer there for the time-being. There's room there and if they want their revenge, the basement is the last place they'll think of looking. Romeo, you're going to take a sleeping pill and spend the night with Feli. Is everyone on the same page?"

There was a chorus of "yes."

"Good. _Go._ "

And after their grandfather had been moved to the basement, after Feli had taken Romeo to his room, Lovino stole into his grandfather's now-empty bedroom and found the key to his home office.

Behind the painting of the ocean in the office, there was a safe, and in the safe was a phonebook. He turned every single page until he found it. _Antonio Fernandez Carriedo._

He couldn't call him now. Not yet. Perhaps Lovino would never need to call him. But Lovino wanted to have the option. So he saved the number on his phone and put the phonebook back.

* * *

"Found them passed out under a streetlight."

The two of them were barely regaining consciousness.

Lovino punched them in their faces and watched their eyes slide shut again. "Lock them in the cell. When they come around, beat them up a little. Starve them for a day or two. Only then will I even think of speaking to them."

"Lovino…" Francis began, pressing his foot into Luciano's cheek. "When you say beat them up?"

"Break a couple of non-vital bones." Lovino's golden eyes flashed in the dim lighting. "But Francis, _only_ a couple of non-vital bones. Nothing else."

"Of course."

He turned next to Gilbert and Ludwig. "I want to speak to you both alone."

Francis and a couple of the guards lugged the twins off.

The room was theirs.

Lovino put his lips to the wine bottle and took a shameless swig. "How long before Braginsky reacts?"

Ludwig spoke up. "That depends on a lot of things, Lovino."

"Like?"

"Who he wants to target and how he wants to kill them."

With trembling arms, Lovino set the wine bottle down on the table. "Who is he likely to target?"

Gilbert chewed his lower lip. "A sibling for a sibling."

Lovino only nodded. "Feli and Romeo are in the same room. Stand guard there."

Ludwig's blue eyes hardened when he heard Feli's name. "We'll guard them with our lives."

* * *

 **A/N: I'm sorry if you don't like the way I've written the 2Ps. But they're definitely negative characters here (and anyway, they're minor). Also I've never written them before, so I have no idea what I'm doing xD Sorry. Thanks for reading, anyway. One more chapter before the Spamano starts (bear with me!) Bye!**


	3. The Cradle Falls

**A/N: ENTER ANTONIO.**

 **Also, catholicorprotestant requested everyone's ages, and I suddenly realised they perhaps weren't as clear to you guys in the story as I'd hoped they were (sorry!). Anyway, here are the ages:**

 **Lovino – 24**

 **Antonio – 25**

 **Feliciano – 22**

 **Romeo – 14**

 **Gilbert – 26**

 **Francis – 25**

 **Ludwig – 23**

 **Flavio and Luciano – 18**

 **Don Romulus Vargas – 76**

 **Ivan – 30**

 **Arthur – 35**

 **Alfred - 29**

* * *

 _The Story of Ivan Braginsky, Businessman._

You don't want to know the story of Ivan Braginsky, businessman.

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

Ivan Braginsky sat at the dining table, dazed and cold. A half-empty bottle of vodka sat in front of him. His sister Katyusha was sobbing loudly on the couch. The clock on the wall went _tick-tock-tick-tock_ , cloaked under the hum of people moving in and out of his mansion.

"I just…don't understand it," he said to nobody at all.

Eduard von Bock poured him a shot.

"Sir, we have the CCTV footage," Tino announced gently as he and Berwald came through the door. "Shall we watch it?"

Ivan blinked after the footage came to an end.

"I _really_ don't understand it," he went on, this time sounding genuinely confused. "What did we ever do to the Vargas family? Why did they hurt me this way?" He stood, his hands behind his back as he paced around the living room.

"Sir…" Raivis Galante, the small, nervous one asked, "what would you like us to do?"

"We will have our vengeance," Ivan replied simply. "But on whom?" He suddenly stopped, blinking a tear away. "They must weep like I weep."

"If I may suggest," Berwald began, soft, emotionless. His voice sounded like ice from brittle northern winds. "Natalya's murderers were the twins, Flavio and Luciano. The Vargas family themselves do not like the twins. It's possible that they want to punish the twins harshly themselves. So why don't we take the youngest one instead?"

"No!" Tino snapped. "Family needn't get involved in business matters." He bit his lip; he'd spoken without thinking. Glancing towards his boss, he said, "…Right, sir?"

"But they have involved family. What did Natalya ever do to them?" Ivan put his lips to the vodka bottle and took a large swig. When he lowered it, his eyes were shining and his lips formed some kind of cruel smile. "I think that's fair. Innocent blood for innocent blood. Find out everything you need to know about Romeo Vargas."

* * *

"Liz?" Gilbert called softly as he entered his apartment. His wife was fast asleep. It was half past three in the morning. Their apartment was small, with only two bedrooms. One was theirs, and the other had been converted into the baby's room. After three miscarriages, however, it was now just a study.

Liz was curled up under the bedsheets, a soft smile on her face. Gilbert just watched her for a moment, before kneeling and pressing his lips to her temple. "Liz, we need to talk."

"Mmh. Tomorrow," she mumbled.

"Now. Come on." He shook her shoulder gently. "Come on."

Ten minutes later, she'd brushed her teeth and washed her face, and sat opposite her husband at the dining table, a cup of green tea in her hand. "This better be good. You better be pregnant or asking for a divorce or something."

He started to laugh. "Sorry, I'm not pregnant."

She giggled too. They laughed because it was easier than crying when anyone brought up pregnancy. So they joked about it. They joked about it viciously.

"Or divorcing you."

"Good. Because that would be a dumb thing to do."

"I know. But something has happened, and I just want you to be on guard."

Elizabeta sighed, taking a sip of her tea. Every time Gilbert said that, she'd become quiet and exasperated. Gilbert worried about her, about her safety. But nobody attacked wives and children. It just wasn't done. Family was out of bounds.

"Flavio and Luciano killed Natalya."

She was not expecting that.

" _Ivan's sister_?"

"Half-sister. Different father. But basically, yes."

"Why?"

"Because they're stupid. And they were drunk. Yes, Natalya is a part of the business, but the whole thing was uncalled for, and frankly, personal." Gilbert then told her about Romeo. She covered her mouth with her hand. He knew she saw the Vargas boys in a rather maternal way, even though she was the same age as Lovino. ("They need a tough woman to tell them to shut up now and then.")

"I'm worried about us." Gilbert stared down the neck of his beer bottle. "Since it's Ivan. I was trying to talk to Ludwig too, but he wouldn't listen."

Elizabeta pressed his palm. "You shouldn't have to suffer for Ludwig."

"He's my kid brother. And you're my wife. I'm supposed to protect both of you."

Elizabeta just sighed. "I know where the gun is. And the emergency cash. I know where the hideout is. Our safe word is 'Budapest'."

"Good girl." He came up to her and kissed her forehead. "Don't worry me, okay?"

"Have a little faith, Gilbert. I can take care of myself."

* * *

"Lovino, why am I in the basement?"

Lovino handed his grandfather some pills and some green vegetable juice. "Good morning, _Nonno_. How are you feeling?"

His grandfather's stare – so much like Lovino's – glinted in the basement's pathetic yellow lights. The doctors had recommended he stay in the hospital, but Don Vargas didn't trust them. So instead, the hospital had to come to Sicily Mansion. The Don was hooked to machines which beeped on and off, and the servants dashed about, attending to his every need.

" _Lovino._ "

The grandson sighed. This was another sleepless night. It was starting to show on his young features. "Something happened." And Lovino told him. The grandfather only stared, expressionless.

"I'm sorry, grandpa. I should have kept a better eye on them."

His grandfather shook his head. "You can't babysit those two every minute of the day. You know they were going to mess up like this."

"But it's all under control," Lovino quickly said. "You don't have to stress. That's part of why you had that heart attack. Just relax, I'm going to handle it. We have contacts in the papers so the story is out of at least a couple of rags. Today we're going to reach out to the Russians and settle things – "

"Are you insane? You are _not_ going to make the first move to settle things down. It's weak." His grandfather's hands tightened over his duvet, and he suddenly winced from a pain in his chest.

"Grandpa, you need to relax." Lovino put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy. Breathe. Are you all right?"

"Don't baby me, Lovino." But he seemed to calm down after that. "And don't contact Braginsky first. He'll think we're trying to avert something."

"But we _are_ trying to avert something!"

"No, we're not afraid of any retaliation."

 _You stubborn bastard._

"Lovino, that is an order."

"Fine." Lovino stood. "Fine, as you say." _You're still the boss, after all._ "I'll just fortify the house and our businesses, then."

"Good boy." The Don finally smiled. "You're turning out to be a fine leader."

Lovino sighed. "Thank you."

* * *

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you." Lovino pressed a gun to Flavio's head. Francis held Luciano at gunpoint. Both twins were on their knees, shaking with hunger with broken collarbones.

"We're family," Flavio replied.

Lovino lowered his gun. "House arrest. No. Confine them to their rooms. Three bathroom breaks a day. If I see them outside at any other time, I _will_ shoot them."

Francis only nodded. "Of course, Lovino."

* * *

Nothing happened for a week, and then fireworks poured out of Romeo's mouth as he started talking back.

"I'm sick and tired of staying in here all fucking day! I'm missing out on school, and I don't care what you want, _I'm going_!"

"Do you want to die?" Lovino screamed back. "The only reason Braginsky hasn't had you killed yet is because you've been home, with bodyguards!"

"I want to actually do something productive with my life, and if I stay here any longer, I'm going to lose my straight As!"

"Guys!" Feli snapped. "Can we just calm down and finish dinner?"

They ignored him. Romeo got up from the table and Lovino did too, towering over his youngest brother with golden eyes forcing his superiority. "Losing your grades is better than losing your life." His voice was calm now. "You know how these things work, Romeo. A life for a life."

"And why would they want to take mine?" Romeo snarled. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"You're the most vulnerable."

"I'm not in the business."

"This isn't business!" Lovino shouted suddenly. "Don't you get it, you fucking idiot? This is personal! Natalya's death wasn't a business move, it was bloodlust and opportunity!"

Romeo just glared, vaguely resembling their father on a bad day. "I am going to school tomorrow. You can just go fuck yourself." And with that, he stormed to his room and slammed the door shut.

Lovino violently brought his fist into the table. Feli's wine glass almost fell over.

Feliciano just spun his spaghetti around his fork. "He's a teenager. You've got to handle him a little better. They're prone to emotional outbursts."

"Shut the hell up."

"Don't you turn on me, Lovi, because you know very well that I can shout back." Feli's position in the family was that exactly: the mediator, the advisor, the one who always spoke sense. It didn't do well to compromise his position. It upset the balance. "If he wants to go, he's going to go, and you can't stop him. We'll send bodyguards with him. Don't you worry one bit. They wouldn't attack him in school. Even Ivan knows his boundaries."

Lovino sat down and ran a hand through his hair. "Ivan knows his boundaries, yes. But does Emil Bondevik?"

* * *

 _Five Fun Facts About Ivan Braginsky's Russian Mafia_

Ivan Braginsky is the 'Pakhan', the boss, the 'Godfather', shall we say.

Berwald Oxenstierna is his Sovietnik, his advisor. He is more experienced in this role than Feliciano is as _consigliere._ Berwald helped spread Ivan's power after the war seven years ago, and Ivan trusts him completely.

Tino Väinämöinen and Matthias Køhler share the role of Kassir – the bookmaker. While Tino handles the books, Matthias collects money from the brigadiers and bribes government officials.

Toris Laurinaitis, Ravais Galante and Eduard von Bock, although appearing nervous and skittish, are Ivan's three most trusted brigadiers or captains, each with men working under them.

And then we have Emil Bondevik. He is what they call 'torpedo'. Working under Toris, Emil is a contract killer.

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

"If it isn't Ludwig Beilschmidt," Emil whispered to himself from inside his car as he slid one of Natalya's custom-made knives with the ebony hilts into his coat. _Kill him how Natalya would have wanted_ , Pakhan Braginsky had said. Maybe he should kill Ludwig too. But he didn't want to cause problems without Ivan's permission. Maybe next time, then.

He'd been watching Sicily Mansion for a week. It was impenetrable, and anyway, trying to enter it would have been foolish. Romeo was just a child, and children went to school. At the back of his mind, he almost wondered if Ivan would appreciate murdering the boy in school, where young kids would find him. These bosses kept up their pretence of civility. It was important to them. Even Don Vargas, the same man who poisoned his four-year-old granddaughter, would have some reservations about this.

But Emil had a job to do, so why waste an opportunity?

Everybody clearly knew who little Romeo was, because when they saw him walk inside with surly, cardboard Ludwig following after him, they made way. Emil could almost imagine them whisper, _he's the Vargas boy. That's his bodyguard._

Emil waited for a minute or two, before getting out of the car and entering the school building.

* * *

In the quiet bathroom where Romeo was washing his hands, Ludwig hovered next to him, checking his watch. "When does your school end, again?"

"Now," Emil replied with a rare smile.

Ludwig didn't have a chance to whip out his gun before Emil flung Natalya's knife into his chest. These knives were meant for shots like this, after all. They were throwing knives. Ludwig went down, Romeo screamed, and Emil took out another one of Natalya's blades.

"Hello, Romeo Vargas," he said simply.

There was blood everywhere.

* * *

The funeral was a quiet family affair. Ludwig could barely stand, but he forced himself, and shed tears of guilt. Gilbert was red-eyed too. Feliciano wept. The twins wept. Elizabeta wept. Don Vargas wept. Only Lovino remained dry-faced. He was cold. Cold from inside and out, cold into his bones, into his cells, into his atoms.

Flowers came. Condolences came. Don Vargas got off the bed and resumed control of affairs.

Lovino hated him.

This was his fault.

He could have fixed everything if his grandfather just _gave him the chance._ Lovino couldn't kill his grandpa. It would shatter Feli, especially after this. And besides, he loved the man. But it couldn't go on like this.

Enough. Enough. _Enough._

* * *

 **Lovino: Vash, I want everything ready.**

 **Vash: Are you sure you want to do this now?  
Vash: After...Romeo's death?**

 **Lovino: I. Want. Everything. Ready.**

* * *

Lovino was in his room, desperate to cry. But tears wouldn't help, and Lovino hated an excess of emotion. So he made the call.

* * *

 _Far Away from Where Our Main Character Sits In His Room, Wracked With Grief and On a Mission_

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo sat with a flickering yellow lightbulb and a dilapidated room. The only object of class here was his bottle of wine. It was several decades old, which is how wine should be.

Then his phone rang.

Antonio didn't register it for a second, because it never usually rang. He couldn't recognize the number.

" _Hello? Is this Antonio Fernandez Carriedo?"_

The voice on the other end was unsteady. Afraid? No. Emotional. But underneath that was something tenacious, a sort of solidity that most people could not muster. Like bedrock.

" _My name is Lovino Vargas. Grandson of Don Romulus Vargas."_

Ah. What a strange surprise.

" _Rumours say you're the only man who makes my grandfather nervous."_

This kid really shouldn't believe everything he heard…

" _I would like to employ your services. I can't reveal anything else over the phone. If you agree, meet me at The Rusted Handle – it's a bar near the dockyard. I'll be there at 10.30 day after tomorrow, wearing a green tie. Speak to no-one about this phone call."_

Antonio clicked the end button, dropped the phone on the floor and sighed. There was no more wine in his glass.

* * *

"Lovino, where are you going?"

Lovino gasped at his grandfather's voice. It was dark in the living room, except for a dim yellow decorative light on the wall. His grandfather sat on a sofa chair with a large glass of whiskey, because Don Vargas didn't deal with grief – he let the alcohol eat away at it until there was nothing left but a hangover and bad breath. Lovino turned, forced a weak smile (he felt empty inside), and said, "Sorry, I didn't see you there. I…I'm going out."

"Ludwig," Don Vargas called. His voice was soft and exhausted, but from the kitchen, Ludwig emerged. He was still recovering from the knife to his chest, and Don Vargas didn't blame him for Romeo's death, but Lovino still couldn't look at him for very long. Ludwig wasn't his usual self either. Feli had found him with a stash of hard drugs he otherwise never touched. Still, Ludwig wasn't high now, because he sounded just like himself when he said, "yes?"

Don Vargas gestured vaguely to Lovino. "Go with him. It's very tense out there. I'm not going to lose another grandson."

Ludwig stiffened.

Lovino swallowed. "No. I'm just…I'm going to church. I," his voice cracked. This was a disgusting lie. "I had some things I wanted to say. To. Romeo." Both of them looked at him. Lovino lowered his head, balled his fists and took deep breaths. "I'd like my privacy."

With some difficulty, Don Vargas stood and approached his sotto capo. He put his hands on Lovino's cheeks, kissed his forehead softly and said, "don't be long."

"I won't." Lovino turned, heart rate soaring, and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

The Don waited a beat or two. "Ludwig, follow him."

The German only nodded.

"Make sure he's safe."

"How do you still trust me with their lives?" Ludwig only asked, lowering his head in shame.

Don Vargas patted his shoulder. "People die. It's the nature of the business. It wasn't your fault."

Minutes after Lovino's black BMW left Sicily Mansion, Ludwig's car followed.

* * *

Lovino didn't go to church. Ludwig was surprised at first, but he probably shouldn't have been. Few people went to church at 10.00 PM, and Lovino wouldn't have been one of them anyway. Feli, perhaps. Even the Don. But not Lovino. He followed the car instead to a little bar across the street from the entrance to the docks, and for a moment, Ludwig wasn't sure if he should get out and follow him.

He waited in the car instead.

* * *

 _The Rusted Handle_ was seedy by even Lovino's standards, and Lovino had visited his grandfather's many strip clubs when he was fifteen. The lighting was dim, the music tasteless, the glasses greasy and the beer disgusting. He sat in a booth in the corner, a green tie on his neck, as he bided his time by counting the amount of rats he saw skirting across the floor. (Six). He didn't make eye contact with anybody. Most of these people were drunks and prostitutes, and Lovino was dressed too well. He didn't want to attract any more attention than his shiny cufflinks were already getting.

Someone entered the bar. Lovino could barely see them in the smoke and poor lighting, but the man was wearing a crumpled untucked black shirt and a haversack around one shoulder. He made his way over, and Lovino only focused on his face. Chiseled, tanned, with bright green eyes that at once made Lovino's heart flutter and made him squirm with nerves. Those eyes distressed him. Lovino didn't want to look at them.

And yet, Antonio slid into the seat opposite Lovino.

"Carriedo?" Lovino whispered, heartbeat in his ears.

" _Si_." Antonio leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're not…what I was expecting." For some reason, Lovino had pictured a goliath with fat biceps and twenty tattoos.

"Oh?" Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Well, your tie isn't green."

"Wha – of course it is!" Lovino grabbed at it and held it out.

"That's teal," Antonio said simply, in a very matter-of-fact way.

"It's not te – it doesn't matter," Lovino snapped, his ears reddening.

"I must say, Lovino, you're much more attractive than I'd hoped." Antonio leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

Lovino didn't even know what to say. So he thoughtlessly blurted, "are you gay or something?"

Antonio smirked. "Do you have a problem with that?"

This man, Lovino had to remind himself, was a stone cold killer. "No."

"Because you're gay too, right?"

Lovino kept these things so secret, not even Feliciano knew about them. In fact he thought about it so little (and indeed, more interesting things were always going on at home), that the question actually caught Lovino off guard. He almost denied it, but when he opened his mouth, "how the fuck did you guess that?" toppled out.

"Your eyes." Antonio smirked, enjoying his little game. "Your pupils dilated when they saw me. That usually means attraction. So even if this meeting is complete bullshit – as I suspect it is – we can go to my motel and fuck. How about that?"

"You're – " Lovino seldom found himself at such a loss for words. Romeo. He forced himself to think of his brother, and instantly, his mood got worse. "Stop wasting my time. I don't have too much of it."

"No." Antonio sat up straighter, his gaze hardening. "Stop wasting _mine._ The only reason I'm here is because your last name is Vargas. The Don gave me my big break, and everything I am today is because of him. It is out of respect for him that I bothered to show up. I don't think you're even supposed to have my number, Lovino. You're really fucking lucky I didn't call the Don up myself to rat you out." Antonio paused, sizing up Lovino's stunned expression. "Same old story everywhere you go. Underbosses wanting to overthrow their superiors. You're such a fucking cliché."

Nobody had ever dared to speak to Lovino like that. Mass murderer or not, he wasn't going to stand for it. Antonio may have been the most dangerous human being in the country, but Lovino was no less himself, and he had a gun with him, just in case.

"You're full of shit, aren't you?"

"And yet, I'm not the one who called this meeting."

Lovino could play these verbal games all night if he wanted to, but he couldn't be bothered. So instead, he leaned in and declared, "cards on the table, I need your help."

"Wow, that's surprising news." Antonio suddenly rolled his eyes, and added, "nobody ever calls to hang out. It's always 'Antonio, I need your help', 'Antonio, kill this sonofabitch for me,' 'Antonio, please don't shoot me.' Never 'Antonio, want to go grab some lunch? Want to go watch a movie? Want to take a road trip?' This job is really fucking predictable."

"Wha…" Lovino sat back, blinking. "Did you just –"

"Listen." Antonio sighed, bored and exasperated. "I'm retired. Find another psychopath to do your dirty work."

"What the fuck do you mean _retired,_ Carriedo?" Lovino cried, before glancing around and lowering his voice.

"First of all, my name is Antonio. Call me Antonio. Secondly, _Lovino_ , I'm not going to work for you. Find someone else."

Lovino had not come all this way, lied to his grandfather, swallowed his grief (years and years of it), for this. "How much do you want?"

"I don't need money."

Lovino laughed. "Everyone has a price. What's yours?"

"Solitude."

"Classy. But let's be real, Antonio. There's something you want. Something material. Tell me what it is and you'll have it."

Antonio was quiet for a moment. Then, "you wouldn't be able to afford me."

From his coat pocket, Lovino slapped a paper package on the table. "Here's a fifty grand deposit, taken from my very deep pockets."

Antonio took the packet, opened it, stared into its depths for a moment and then put it in his bag. "An estate in Spain, immunity from the government and ten million dollars wired to a Swiss bank account."

A tall order.

"I'll give you five million."

"Eight."

"Five."

"Seven."

"Antonio, five."

Antonio stared. "Six, and that's my final offer."

Lovino extended a hand to shake. "Let's talk."

* * *

Lovino rubbed his hands together, revising, for one last time, the speech he had prepared. "I'm going to liquidate my grandfather's assets. All of them."

Antonio raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I'm going to sell his land, his businesses, his entire organization, to the Russians. They're the only buyers who'd be able to afford it all. I'm taking my family out of the business, whether they like it or not."

Antonio reached out and took a sip of Lovino's untouched beer. "Interesting. And how, pray, are you going to do that?"

This was when Lovino smirked. "That's the thing. I can. Because technically, my brother Feliciano and I legally own almost the whole thing. He bought the industrial land in our names to keep _his_ name out of the courts if the police started poking about. Everything else – the drugs and the arms, come from suppliers, right? Everything's done in cash and there are no documents. The deals we've decided with our suppliers will be sold to the Russians. The _deals._ Then you have the lesser avenues – internet gambling and internet sex trafficking. I technically own the former, so I sell the websites, and for the for latter, once more, sell the _deals_ that we have with our pimps. That brings us to the strip clubs and casinos. Those were in my father's name. When he died, Feli and I inherited them. My grandfather is the boss of it, he runs it all, he gets the biggest cut, but technically, Antonio, Feli and I own the assets."

Antonio hummed. "What about your money-laundering and protection racketeering?"

"We don't launder money anymore. We shut that down a few years ago because we were making losses – the Russians have the monopoly there now. And protection racketeering is a piece of cake. Our protectees would pay the Russians instead."

"I see." Antonio took another sip of Lovino's beer. "But I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

Lovino sat back against his seat. "My initial plan was to do it the right way. To wait until I took over the family. To wait till my grandfather died. But now…"

"Your brother, hmm?" Antonio kept drinking the beer. "It's been all over the news. The brutal murder of a fourteen-year-old in a school bathroom. Dark stuff."

Lovino swallowed and glanced away.

"Another war seems imminent," Antonio said simply.

"And it can be avoided if my plan succeeds."

"That's true."

"The net worth of the whole thing is easily over a billion dollars."

"Impressive." Antonio raised his glass almost to praise Lovino. "Certain countries don't have GDPs that high."

Lovino snorted, although he didn't sound very happy. "Yeah." Hesitating slightly, he added, "it's been on my mind for years and years. Since my parents and grandmother were murdered. Last month, I actually figured out a way to do it and started speaking to Vash Zwingli about it."

Antonio made a face. "That sorry little man."

"He's useful."

" _Si_."

"This fucking business and its violence. I've killed people too, I have no qualms about it. But it's fucking pointless, especially when family gets involved." Lovino had to fight to keep his voice steady. "What did anyone achieve by murdering my meat-pie-making grandmother or my cat-loving mother? What did anyone achieve by killing my brother? He was only fourteen, and he had plans. Things he wanted to do. He died for _nothing_ , and it could have been avoided if my grandfather had let me handle things my way. I would have spoken to Braginsky. At least I could have softened him a little. I'm really fucking _pissed off_ at all the senselessness of it.

"You know, my father didn't want this for us. He wanted us to do something useful for society. He talked about Feli opening an Italian restaurant and me being an artist and I don't know what the fuck else. If he saw us now, extorting people and shooting them in the chest, he'd be heartbroken."

"Sentimental," Antonio merely said. He finished the beer and signalled for another one. "I still don't understand what you need me for."

"I'm not sure yet either." Lovino's golden eyes were soft now, molten and cautious. "But I'm going against one of the most dangerous, influential people in the country, and I need someone solid on my side. Because I'm going to lose everything. Perhaps even my life."

"So you need a trump card."

"Yes. Will you do it?"

Antonio was silent for a whole minute. "I respect your grandfather a lot. I could still rat you out. But I need that estate in Spain with the immunity and the money, so fine, I'm on your side."

Lovino almost smiled. Then Antonio added, "you'd best figure something out for yourself, too."

"What do you mean?"

Antonio shrugged. "Just saying. You're going against a very powerful establishment. You're going to need a place to escape to when it's all over."

"If I survive it."

"If you survive it."

The second beer arrived.

They shook hands.

"Come to my motel?"

Lovino finished the beer in five large gulps and slammed some money down on the table. "Let's go."

* * *

 **A/N: Dark!Spain is a thing of beauty. But he isn't Insane!Dark!Spain, he's just a little bit bloodthirsty. Thanks for reading! Please review :D**


	4. Icarus's Life Has Only Just Begun

**A/N: Things are about to start happening. Yay :D**

* * *

Antonio's motel was the sort with paper walls and angry couples shouting at each other from behind them. There were more rats. The guy at the reception was definitely high. There was a soda dispenser with an _Out of Order_ sticker on it.

His room was, if anything, worse. A lumpy bed, a stale, vaguely cabbage-y smell in the air, and with the blinds drawn, Lovino felt mildly suffocated. "Home sweet home," Antonio said, ignoring the irony of the statement.

"I thought you had enough money to live wherever you wanted."

"Ah," Antonio said slowly. "I, uh, I did."

Lovino raised an eyebrow.

"Then I blew it all up in Vegas."

" _All_ of it?"

"I was there for a month."

Lovino slapped his forehead.

* * *

Ludwig couldn't understand what was happening. First the bar, now a motel? Was Lovino on a date? (With a man?) Not that Ludwig had any interest in his personal life. The Don wouldn't agree, and Ludwig could keep a secret, but when he ventured to think about it a bit more, this didn't seem even vaguely romantic.

There was something…well, off, about this whole thing. The secrecy of it. He understood that reputations had to be protected, yes, but…he just had a feeling. It was past midnight now. If the Don was awake, he'd be getting anxious.

Ludwig sighed, lighting a cigarette to fight off sleep. His still-raw wound hurt, but not as badly as his betrayal did. They'd trusted him. And he let them down. He let down his boss and Romeo, he'd let down everybody.

He just stared at Lovino's BMW up ahead, wondering about him and the man with him, wondering if Lovino might ever forgive Ludwig for his failure.

* * *

Pushing off the covers, Lovino jumped out of bed and grabbed his clothes and shoes. He was angry. He was exhausted, filthy and furious with himself. It hadn't even been a week since Romeo's death and he was already in a strange motel room with the after-sex panic that he detested. He threw on his blazer and stupid _teal_ tie, snatched his phone, gun and wallet from the table, opened the door and –

He heard a familiar _click_ from behind him, and Lovino's heart just sank. He raised his arms above his head and turned. Slowly. Antonio had a Glock 22 pointed at him, his green eyes as cold as poison. "Careful, Lovino," he whispered. It was a sight – Antonio in only his boxer shorts. It would have been funny if Lovino wasn't so terrified.

"What the hell is your problem?" he tried to make it sound menacing, but the words that fell out were hesitant and confused.

"Gun on the floor," Antonio ordered.

He had a passing thought of shooting Antonio with it, but as his hand clamped around the weapon, Lovino lost his courage. One wrong move, and Antonio would blow his brain apart. So he dropped his gun on the floor and kicked it towards Antonio.

"Close the door."

Lovino did.

Antonio never lowered his gun. "I get _very_ suspicious of sudden escapes. Don't you?"

"You're paranoid. I need to get home."

"Didn't you have fun?" Antonio asked, his voice in mock innocence.

"I did, I did, but I need to get home, idiot!" Lovino couldn't handle this right now. His emotions were all over the place. He needed to lock himself up in a quiet room and force his tears away. He wasn't mentally present enough to deal with this guy.

"What did you want from me? Information? To figure out where I stay? Who are you working for?"

" _For fuck's sake_!" Lovino snapped. His only warning was the burn in his throat and eyes before the tears poured out and he had to cover his face in shame.

"What…" he heard Antonio slowly whisper. Lovino forced his head up and tried to wipe his eyes, but all that achieved was showing his wet, sobbing face to one of the coldest people alive. Antonio looked utterly lost for a moment, lowering the gun. "You're crying," he said out loud, as though this was something alien to him. "That's new," he admitted, before placing his gun on the table and taking hesitant steps towards Lovino.

"Fuck off, okay?" Lovino mumbled, although it sounded so pathetic he almost wished he'd not said anything at all.

Antonio caught him by the shoulders and guided him to the bed, where Lovino sat and cried, cried, cried. Antonio was awkwardly rubbing his back.

"I was supposed to look after him," Lovino blurted out. He'd already made a total ass of himself to Antonio anyway. He had nothing else left to lose. "I _told_ him to stay at home, but he didn't listen. It was my responsibility."

Antonio sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. Fuck. This was not how I pictured my first meeting with you." He coughed through his tears.

For a moment, they were quiet. Only Lovino's tears and the passing chugs of trains in the distance interrupted them. Antonio sighed again. "I know it's going to hurt a lot. My older brother shot himself when he was sixteen."

Swallowing, Lovino whispered, "really?"

Antonio just nodded, his eyes distant. "He was really angry about a lot of things. I never really tried to understand him. I guess that's on me."

"You're not at all how I pictured." Lovino wiped his eyes on his sleeves.

The man beside him chuckled. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Lovino just nodded. "I'll text you."

* * *

A dark figure exited the motel, and Ludwig lowered his cigarette so it wouldn't be visible from the windscreen of his car. He watched Lovino enter his BMW, close the door behind him and drive off.

Ludwig followed him home.

* * *

When Lovino got back, the house was quiet. He went to his room and didn't bother changing before he collapsed onto his bed and slept like he hadn't slept since his grandfather had that heart attack.

* * *

 _10.23 AM_

"Emil Bondevik," Ivan greeted with his customary smile. It always unnerved his subordinates. He usually smiled like that when he ordered death sentences. In his home office, Ivan sipped his tea as his favourite contract killer took a seat. Emil was stiff and nervous. "You're a hard man to find, aren't you?"

Emil kept his eyes lowered. It was just smart. Ivan hated feeling challenged. It made him furious. And eye-contact could sometimes be the one thing that sent him over the edge. "I'm sorry, sir. But I had to keep a low profile. That last kill turned into a media frenzy."

A wooden screech as Ivan opened a drawer in his desk. Without looking, he pulled out a plastic wrapped wad of banknotes and tossed it towards Emil. Ivan then stood and walked towards him. "Good work," was all he said, patting Emil's shoulder.

And out of nowhere, the barrel of a revolver forced its way up Emil's chin, forcing his head back. The shorter man let out a panicked gasp.

Ivan had his finger on the trigger, and he didn't bother looking at his victim. "Next time," he whispered, "don't attack a school." And with that, the revolver slid back into the depths of Ivan's coat, and Pakhan Braginsky walked off.

* * *

Lovino awoke to frenzy. For a second, he was confused – why was he wearing a suit? And then the surreality of the night before came rushing back, and the first thought he had was, _Oh, God._ Antonio. The Rusted Handle. Sex. _Did he CRY?_

"Oh God," Lovino moaned, pushing himself up. He had to blink through a dizzy spell and had to hold the wall to prevent falling over. He was so _disoriented._ "Coffee," he whispered, rather pleaded with the heavens above. Shedding his suit for something less suspicious – a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, he staggered to the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash some water on his face.

When he emerged seven minutes later, he was distinctly aware of a _Happening_ happening. Feli was on the phone, Gilbert and Ludwig were barking orders, Francis was nowhere, _Flavio and Luciano_ were sitting at the dining table with machine guns and at the center of it all, Don Vargas was leaning back on the sofa chair with a cigar (because heart scares be damned, right?)

When Lovino came down the stairs, his grandfather motioned him to come closer. "A new development."

"Oh?" Lovino was not coherent enough for this.

"I sent Gilbert's men to fire at some of Braginsky's drug peddlers. They're reporting in now."

"Oh," was all Lovino said. His grandfather blinked at him, expectant. So Lovino added, "great." His eyes wandered to the kitchen. "Coffee." And he ambled off.

As he put the water to boil, Lovino took out his phone and sent:

 **Lovino: Meeting you at 11.45.**

 **Vash: Fine. I'll be home.**

And another:

 **Lovino: Need you here by 11.00 AM. We'll be going to Zwingli's residence.**

 **Antonio: we're using MY car**

 **Lovino: …Why?**

 **Antonio: becauz yours is a bitch-car**

Lovino rolled his eyes and locked his phone.

* * *

"Wassup, Artie! I got burgers!"

Alfred walked into the cabin with a paper bag of McDonalds and dumped it on Arthur's desk, somewhere between the paperwork and the tea cups.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Do not call me 'Artie'."

"Why not?" Alfred laughed. "It suits you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Arthur hadn't heard it ring – it must have been on vibrate or something, because Alfred rolled his eyes at the screen, swiped to answer, and pressed it to his ear. "Mattie, I'm busy saving the world, what do you want?"

Arthur leaned back, rubbing his hands in amusement. Well, well, well, what was this?

"What do you mean I forgot my glasses, I'm wearing them right – oh crap, these are yours. I didn't even realise."

Alfred was silent for a moment, and then he suddenly frowned. "Hey! You're the idiot! Whatever, I actually have work to do, so you come over because I'm not moving my ass." Pause. "My ass is _not_ fat, fuck you." And then he cut the call.

"What in the world was that?" Arthur asked, swallowing a laugh.

" _Ugh_ , my lame brother. He's coming here in a bit. I walked off with his glasses."

"You have a brother?"

"A twin."

Arthur's eyes widened. "That's interesting."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred kept his phone on the desk. "I'm expecting a call from Bonnefoy. I think he's starting to trust me."

* * *

Ludwig was a watcher. This was above all. Unlike his brother, Ludwig was quiet and reticent, and more than anything, observant. He was standing outside with a cigarette, watching the butterflies flit between the begonias when a black van pulled up at the heavily guarded gate. Black vans were always suspicious things. Out of sheer habit, Ludwig dropped his cigarette and reached for the inside of his blazer. The guards at the gate, too, had their guns raised as one of them went to check who the intruder was.

He walked up to the van himself, the guards let him through, and Ludwig peered into the window of the driver's seat, where a handsome man in an untucked dark green shirt sat with one hand on the steering wheel, his expression bored. His eyes – vivid, sharp – stared at Ludwig for a moment, before his face split in a grin. "Don't I know you?" He snapped his fingers to jog his memory. "What did Gilbert call you? Ah! Little Luddy!"

Ludwig went scarlet, took his gun out and aimed it squarely at the man's face. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The man snickered. "Why don't you go inside and tell Don Vargas that Antonio says hello. He'll understand."

* * *

"Sir, there's a man outside in a black van, calls himself Antonio."

And Ludwig observed the atmosphere in the room change in a split second. Lovino's head shot up, blinking. His back stiffened. The Don widened his eyes, standing up slowly. And Gilbert lowered his phone, giving Ludwig this stupid surprised stare.

"Antonio?" Don Vargas asked quietly. "My Antonio?"

"Uh…" Ludwig began.

"Well, don't just stand there! Let him in! He's a special guest, always welcome here!"

Feliciano, Flavio and Luciano glanced at each other, clearly as confused as Ludwig was.

* * *

Toris approached Ivan and whispered in his boss's ear.

Ivan smiled. Now he would take revenge on the Vargas family for killing some of his best drug peddlers.

"Shall I give the order, sir?" Toris asked in a low voice.

"They're all at the warehouse, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do it."

* * *

"Hey, Mr. Bonnefoy, dude!" Alfred as Thomas chirped. "Want some candy?" He offered an open packet of M&Ms to Francis, who wrinkled his nose and shook his head. It was a slightly overcast day, and in the breeze, Alfred was feeling a little chilly. They were at Vash Zwingli's warehouses again, and they were all alone.

From a shoulder bag, Francis handed up a newspaper-wrapped stack of notes. "Good work the other day. I want to get you properly integrated in our system." This was what Alfred had been waiting for, but for some reason, he couldn't concentrate. He didn't know why he was feeling so…watched.

Well, okay, technically, he knew Arthur was around somewhere with binoculars, but that wasn't quite it. Alfred was starting to feel a little nervous. He could swear he'd noticed a shadow flitting between the warehouses.

"– don't you come by the house tomorrow at noon, and we can –"

Alfred raised a hand up to silence Francis. "I feel weird."

"Excuse me?" Francis blinked at him, followed his gaze and turned his head around. "Do you see something?"

Alfred saw the gunman at the very last second, and years of police training meant his first instinct was to shield the other person. So he shoved Francis out of the way, whipped out his gun (today he hadn't been searched), and fired a round into the distance.

They were in a gunfight. Five Russians versus Alfred and Francis, both with their weapons drawn out. Was Arthur seeing this? Could he do something? Alfred didn't have the time to think about it.

"Come on!" he yelled, throwing open the doors of the nearest vehicle ('Thomas Young's' pick-up truck) and hopping inside, Francis close behind.

"Drive!" Francis ordered as he kept shooting.

Gunfights were so…loud. Alfred loved them. They were chaotic and uncontrolled and there was always the threat of death, but never did he feel more alive.

All he could hear as he hit the ignition was the roar of his truck, the _BAMBAMBAMBAM_ of five gunmen aiming at Francis and cries of pain as Francis shot back. "DRIVE, DRIVE!" Francis yelled. A bullet grazed his arm.

The truck burned rubber as it drove off.

* * *

The black van entered the Vargas premises, and to Ludwig's utter astonishment, the Don himself stepped out of the house to greet this Antonio. They embraced. They _embraced._ Lovino just stared, mildly slack-jawed.

"My deepest condolences about your grandson," Antonio said mournfully, kissing the Don's ring. "It is what prompted me to come back to you and aid you in ending the Russian menace once and for all."

"You're a good boy, son. I worried about your well-being."

"And I yours. Your heart – well, I knew you'd be all right." Antonio smiled, soft and submissive and full of adoration, and Ludwig wanted to vomit. In the five seconds he'd seen of this man, he could already tell that Antonio was full of silken language and utter bullshit.

"Come here, asshole," Gilbert demanded, pulling Antonio in a swift hug and clapping him on the back. "Long time, huh? Did you run out of cash or something and need some more?"

Antonio laughed. "You're still the same, I see. Where's Francis? He didn't die, did he?"

Gilbert snorted. "Hah, I wish. He'll be back soon."

Who the hell _was_ this man that his brother knew but Ludwig didn't.

"Antonio, Antonio," the Don said, "meet my grandsons, Feliciano and Lovino, consigliere and sotto capo."

Antonio grinned at Feli, shaking his hand. Feliciano smiled back, although it was a lot more reserved than his usual beams. "It's nice to meet you, Antonio."

"And you, consigliere." Antonio then glanced at Lovino, Lovino glanced at him, and then the usually undaunted sotto capo turned scarlet and looked away.

"Lovino," Antonio said in simple greeting. "Nice track pants."

Ludwig watched Lovino's hands ball up. Maybe he would punch Antonio. Ludwig hoped he would.

But he didn't, and the moment passed.

* * *

"Uh, dude, that looks bad." Now that they were safely away from the gunmen, Alfred took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at Francis, who had taken off his blazer. Blood was seeping through his white shirt, and his skin was an unhealthy white.

"It's just been grazed," Francis replied through gritted teeth. "Find a drug store and buy some supplies. I can fix this."

Alfred just nodded. He still had adrenaline in his veins, and he could feel his phone vibrate in his breast pocket. Arthur was probably calling and texting to make sure he was all right. Alfred had an opportunity now. Thank you, Russian gunmen.

"Those Russians really hate you, huh?"

Francis made a face. "It's just business. These skirmishes are nothing. The bosses are going to declare open war any day now."

"Business, huh?' Alfred mused. "Say, I've always wondered, do you guys, like, rat each other out to the cops?"

"Don't ask foolish questions. Of course not. There's a code of honour."

"Oh. Right, sorry. Yeah, that should have been obvious." Alfred hummed. "But can't the cops catch you anyway? They know you guys are dirty."

Francis smiled through his wound. " _Oui,_ Thomas, but where is the proof?"

Widening his eyes theatrically, he replied, "so you're saying there's _no proof?_ Like, an entire business organization that runs without _any_ proof? Wow!"

The man with the bleeding arm started to laugh. "You're such a rookie. Of course we maintain accounts. But there's only one copy of them, and I'm in charge of keeping it safe."

Alfred had to suppress the urge to smile. So, Francis was the one in charge of The Book's safety, huh. Well, well.

"By the way," Francis added, rather kindly, "I was very impressed with you there. You saved my life. _Merci._ "

"Hey, man, don't mention it. You're good to me, man. I needed a chance to prove myself. The money you gave me is going to pay for my mom's medication, so I should be thanking you." Alfred pulled up beside a supermarket. "Here we go. I'll go get you some bandages and stuff. Sit tight."

* * *

 **Arthur: SHIT SHIT SHIT ARE YOU OKAY  
** **Arthur: ALFRED I'VE LOST SIGHT OF YOU  
** **Arthur: ALFRED WE DON'T HAVE ANY TEAMS STATIONED YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN  
** **Arthur: ALFRED**

 **Alfred: DUDE CALM DOWN  
Alfred: I'm fine Francis is hurt so I'm getting some bandages and shit for him.  
Alfred: Listen. Francis keeps The Book safe. It's his responsibility.**

 **Arthur: Oh, good, you're alive.  
Arthur: Really? Francis? He protects their book of accounts?**

 **Alfred: Uh-huh.**

 **Arthur: Okay. Don't blow your cover, but meet me at the station asap.  
Arthur: I have to make some calls.**

 **Alfred: Who are you calling?**

 **Arthur: A friend of mine :)**

 **Alfred: Dude don't use smiley-faces. They look weird on you.**

* * *

Arthur got back to the station so emotionally wound up that the first thing he needed was tea. (Well, he always needed tea.) At least his young partner was all right. He was sick and tired of losing good officers to this job. Being the older and more senior detective, it was his responsibility to make sure Alfred was okay. Arthur himself could not go undercover, so he had to put Alfred in danger. The Vargas family knew him as Arthur Kirkland, cop.

He made his tea and stepped out of the break room to find Alfred standing in the middle of the station floor, looking utterly lost. He glanced around, pressing his lips together as he stared hopelessly at one of the officers, almost as though debating to ask him something.

"Alfred!" Arthur called, and the younger blonde glanced up with confusion and relief written all over his face.

"Are you –" Alfred began, but Arthur gestured towards his office.

"Let's talk in here." And when Arthur shut the door behind them, he went on, "you gave me a scare today, but that was some intelligent work. I didn't expect you back so soon, though."

"I think you –" Alfred began, but Arthur ploughed on.

"Now I've spoken to an old friend of mine, Emma. She's a pretty senior cop, worked in Vice and Organised Crime, and –"

Alfred turned beetroot. "Hey, listen! I'm not –"

"She has lots of experience working undercover, and she has agreed to help get The Book –"

"I'm not Alfred!" he suddenly shouted, and Arthur finally stopped and blinked.

"Excuse me?"

The man shook his head. "This happens _all the time_. People mistaking me for Alfred, I mean. I'm not Alfred. I'm his brother, Matthew."

Arthur just stared. "You're joking."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I'm here to return these glasses?" He took them off his nose and placed them on the desk. "We walked off with the wrong pair of glasses today. He has mine. I mean, it's fine, we've got the same lens numbers, but his frames are heavier and I don't like them. But clearly my brother isn't here now, so just, you know, tell him I dropped by."

Just as Matthew was about to turn and leave, Arthur cried out, "wait! You're really not Alfred?"

"Nope."

"You look exactly like him."

"Actually, my hair is longer and wavier and my eyes are a different shade of blue." Matthew gave Arthur a pitying sigh. "Never mind. You clearly don't get it."

"Wow," Arthur whispered.

"Yeah. Okay." Matthew rolled his eyes again. "Well, I need to get back to work now, so…see you, I guess." And with that, he was gone.

* * *

"Lovino," Antonio hissed, pulling him into a corner.

"You idiot, this is my home!"

"Yeah." Antonio didn't touch him or anything. He just took a gun out of his haversack and pressed it into Lovino's hand. "You left this in my room last night."

Lovino gasped softly. He was wearing a suit now, waiting for the best moment to slip outside. "That's where it went." He put the gun in his blazer. "Thanks."

Antonio grinned. "No problem."

* * *

Ludwig had seen it all.

And it didn't…sit right with him.

Had Antonio been the man from last night? Did Lovino invite him here? Why were they being so…

Secretive.

Ludwig did what he thought was best. When Lovino left his phone on the table and exited the room, Ludwig unlocked it. He knew everybody's passwords. (He was observant, after all.) He installed a tracking app on the device. Why? He didn't know. On some level, this was bordering on betrayal. But Ludwig just had a bad feeling.

* * *

 _How to Sneak Out of a Crime Lord's Mansion_

 _A Standard Guide by Lovino Vargas_

Step One: Keep Everything Ready

"Nice room," Antonio almost leered as he leaned against the door with his arms crossed. Lovino, crouched by his bed, ignored him. He was looking for a briefcase, the sort that carried cash. He usually kept one with him, under his bed. Now, however, it was empty. He'd have to make a withdrawal later. He had some cash in his cupboard, of course. A hundred thousand, easily. One could never have too many notes around the house.

"Too bad we can't fuck in it, right?" Lovino retorted without looking up. "My grandfather is old-fashioned."

Antonio chuckled. "I make a habit of not fucking people in their family homes while their family is around. And yours is a large Italian brood, so someone's always at home."

"It's not as large as it used to be," Lovino replied, somewhat bitterly.

"Ah, yes, thanks to your homicidal cousins."

Lovino stiffened. "Don't be so flippant about it."

"They're your cousins from your mother's side, right?" Antonio went on. "Because I know your father's brother had a little daughter."

"Rosella," Lovino said softly. He pulled out the briefcase and opened it, wiping off the dust with a dirty cloth. "I barely remember her. I must have been three when grandpa killed her."

He heard Antonio click his tongue. "How can you love a child-killer?"

"I don't know," Lovino only said. He stared at Antonio. "Are you soft about these things?"

"Children?" Antonio asked. "I kill for money, and nobody has ever paid me to murder a child." Antonio paused. "Besides, I probably wouldn't do it."

"Really? Why not?"

Antonio just stared. "I used to have a daughter once."

Lovino sat back on the floor. "Seriously?"

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a strange, hollow laugh. "I was eighteen. Her mother died at birth. And Isabel didn't survive very long after."

"Isabel," Lovino repeated, feeling the name slip off his tongue. He lowered his eyes. "Why are you telling me these things?"

Antonio shrugged. "I guess I like comparing my scars with yours?"

Lovino nodded, but mostly to himself. He then put the briefcase on his bed, took out the cash from his cupboard (Antonio let out a low, appreciative whistle at the sight of the money) and put it inside. "Take this," he ordered, shutting the case. "Put it in your car. Discreetly. And wait for me."

Step Two: Create a Diversion

Entering Flavio's room, Lovino unlocked his cupboard with a couple of hairpins (oh, the things you could learn online), and took out his cousin's favourite Armani jacket. He'd already stolen one of Luciano's knives, and so he made casual rips all over its fine cloth.

He shut the cupboard, locked it, left the room and dropped the jacket at the threshold of Luciano's bedroom door. Lovino put the knife back where he found it, before heading downstairs, where Ludwig, Feliciano, Gilbert and the cousins were discussing attack strategies (Don Vargas was made to rest because of chest pains).

Casually, Lovino said, "Flavio, I found your jacket on the floor." He motioned to the stairs. "All ripped up."

Both his cousins had identical broken collarbones and neck braces. They were more subdued than usual, but at Lovino's declaration, Flavio looked up and frowned. "What? Which jacket? All ripped up?"

"The Armani one that you like."

His eyes were the size of dinner plates. "What the fuck do you mean _all ripped up_?"

Lovino raised his hands in surrender. "I don't know. I found it in Luciano's room, so ask him."

It took Gilbert and Ludwig's combined strength to break up the ensuing fight. They didn't notice Lovino slip out.

Step Three: Don't Get Distracted

Not five minutes walking from Sicily Mansion was a dilapidated apartment building with poor residents. If you stood by the wrought-iron gates, you could look clearly at some of the building's windows. And Antonio had been watching.

He'd seen an odd twinkle in one of them. Then a curtain moved. Weird. So weird.

Lovino approached. "Ready to leave?"

Antonio stared straight at the window, and Lovino followed his gaze. "Yeah," Antonio replied. "Just give me five minutes."

Lovino looked between the window and Antonio. "Why?"

"Bathroom break," he replied before leaving the premises.

"We have a bathroom inside," Lovino muttered, his eyes following his partner as he disappeared from view. "Of course he's not taking a goddamn piss." Lovino rushed out, past the guards, just in time to see Antonio enter the building.

Something in Lovino made him stop, and two minutes later, he heard the distinct sounds of a gun going off. _What the fuck_ , was all Lovino could think, before the curtains in one of those apartments turned from pale blue to bright red, and Antonio stepped out of the building with bloodstains on his hands. "Okay. Now we can leave."

Lovino had killed people. He'd grown up around killers. But never before had he seen a more casual attitude to murder. "Who did you just kill?"

"A couple of cops."

"Cops!" Lovino shrieked, his voice high by two octaves. "You idiot, you don't just _kill_ cops!"

Antonio tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Because they fucking investigate it, and Sicily Mansion is right _there_ , and obviously they'll know it's us, and you can't get away with killing police officers!" Lovino had to put a hand on his chest. No fucking wonder his grandfather had a heart attack. Doing this for forty years, who wouldn't?

Draping a friendly arm around Lovino, Antonio cheerfully said, " _Mi amor_ , there is a reason spying is dangerous. You spy on the mafia, you get what's coming to you. I'm sure those nice police officers will understand."

Shoving Antonio's arm off him, Lovino shouted, "I'm not your _amor_ , asshole!"

He just laughed. "What would you Italians prefer, then? _Amore_?"

"Shut up! We've got to deal with this!"

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore~" Antonio sang. "When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine, that's amore~"

Lovino rubbed his face. "Stop singing Dean Martin songs."

"Scusa me, but you see, back in old Napoli, that's _amorreeee~_ "

"STOP SINGING –"

"Hush!" Antonio snapped. "And let's go see Vash Zwingli."

They entered the premises, got into Antonio's black van and started to drive. Lovino peered into the back of the van. "What's all that cargo covered with a bedsheet?"

"Supplies," Antonio replied easily. They drove onto the main road. "And we're out."

 _Success!_

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

"I think we're a bit late," Lovino admitted, searching his pockets. "Shit, I think I forgot my phone at home. What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

"Zwingli hates latecomers."

"You have money, don't you? That's all he cares about."

"True."

They pulled up at the gate of a villa, where CCTV cameras and armed guards zeroed in on them. Antonio sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "Have I told you how much I hate guards?"

"Why, because they make your job more difficult?"

"Be real, Lovino. Because they're minor annoyances the world could do without."

"They're people who work for a living."

"Tax-free," Antonio replied tonelessly. "Because we're all bad guys here." He lowered the window. " _Hola_." Gesturing to Lovino, he added, "Lovino Vargas. We have an appointment. We're late but we come in peace. And with the green stuff. So let us in."

The guards looked carefully between the two of them, before making a phone call. Antonio groaned. There was some rapid speaking in a language neither of them could understand. Then the gates finally opened.

The villa was surrounded by a neatly manicured garden, where a little girl in a wheelchair was being pushed around by a nanny. "That's Lili," Lovino explained. Antonio glanced her way.

"What's wrong with her?"

"A freak case of polio."

"Are you serious?"

Lovino nodded.

Inside the house, they were led past the rosewood furniture and stolen art to Vash's private office, which, anyway, had more rosewood furniture and stolen art. Vash looked at Antonio, narrowed his eyes and muttered, "Who the hell are you?"

"He works for me," Lovino replied eloquently.

" _Si_ ," Antonio added. "I give him blowjobs on command."

Vash raised an eyebrow. There was a loud _thud_ as Lovino slammed the briefcase on the desk. "Why don't you wait outside, Antonio?"

He waggled his eyebrows teasingly and smirked and smirked. Lovino was already blushing, and god, why did Antonio have to be such a fucking moron. The man laughed in an almost teenage way as he turned and walked swiftly out, shutting the door behind him. Vash raised his eyebrow even further.

Pressing the bridge of his nose, Lovino closed his eyes and shook his head. "Please don't ask."

Vash raised his hands up in surrender. "I wasn't going to."

They sat down, and Lovino put the briefcase aside for later. Vash noticed this, but chose not to bring it up. "Okay, now these are the title papers." Vash opened a file and turned it towards Lovino. "All the land assets, internet gambling, strip clubs and casinos. Now I don't know about the rest of your deals because those are paperless, but these have yours and Feliciano's names as the registered owners." Vash took the file back, removed some papers and gave them to Lovino. "These are yours. You sign these. Feliciano will have to sign the other half. And here," Vash tapped another spot, "is where the buyer will have to sign."

Taking an ink pen from the pen stand, Lovino quickly signed through the documents. "And I'll get Feli to sign the rest…somehow."

"He doesn't know what you're doing, does he?"

Lovino swallowed and didn't look up.

"If you die, I still need to be paid."

"Oh shut up." He handed the papers back to Vash, who slid them back into the file. Lovino picked up the briefcase and opened it. "A hundred grand, just as we agreed on."

Vash picked up a bundle of notes at random and flipped through them. He pulled one out and held it to the light.

"Would I ever give you fake money?" Lovino muttered.

"It's nothing personal, Lovino. Just business." Satisfied, he put the bundle back in the briefcase and closed it.

"There's something else."

Vash glanced up. "Oh?"

Lovino crossed and uncrossed his legs. "I have a challenge for you."

Putting the briefcase on the floor next to him, Vash rested his chin on his hands. His eyes glittered. "How interesting. A challenge, you say?"

Leaning back in his chair, Lovino went on, "I want you to get me a villa in Spain. Secluded. Out of the way, you know? A nice neighbourhood somewhere. I'm also going to need you to buy me lifetime government immunity. And I'll also need a functioning Swiss account."

The look on Vash's face was priceless. His eyebrows went practically into his hair as he chewed his bottom lip in thought. His gaze wandered to the side. "That's strangely elaborate for your tastes."

"It isn't for me. It's for Antonio."

"Putting him up in a nice house now, are we?"

"It's his payment, Zwingli."

"For the blowjobs?"

Lovino's smile was small and tense. "You don't know what he does."

Vash snorted. "Give me some credit, Vargas. I know his type." He leaned in. "Let me guess. He's a hitman, isn't he?"

Lovino said nothing. But he didn't actively deny it.

The blonde's lips quirked upwards. "I can get it done. But it's going to be expensive. Very expensive. Shall I buy one ticket to Spain or two?"

"Two," Lovino replied simply. "I'm going to need to escape as well."

Vash just nodded. "That's what I thought. It'll cost you ten million."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"That's my best rate. I'm making a loss here. You'll clean me out of house and home! See, you need a mansion and lifetime immunity for two people? With your sorts of records?"

"Ten is too much."

"Then good luck finding someone else who can do this for you."

This is why everyone hated Vash. But nobody would deny that in an industry of shady businessmen, he was the shadiest, and also the best. "Fine," Lovino snapped. "I'll wire it to your account tonight."

Vash extended a hand to shake. "Always a pleasure doing business with you."

They walked out together, and from a corridor window, they paused to look down at the garden, where Antonio was entertaining Lili by juggling four tomatoes. "Really, which movie set in hell did you find this clown?" The tomatoes fell, one of them comically hitting Antonio on the head. They heard Lili clap.

Lovino snorted. "You don't want to know."

* * *

 **A/N: Just to recap –**

 **Alfred found out that Francis protects the only existing copy of the Vargas family's accounts, which is also the only damning evidence that exists against them.**

 **Antonio has killed two police officers spying on Sicily Mansion, and left their bodies to be found.**

 **Arthur mistook Matthew for Alfred.**

 **Ludwig has installed a tracking app on Lovino's phone because he knows something shady is going on, he just doesn't know what.**

 **Lovino has possession of the title deeds of most of the Vargas's industrial land and certain businesses which, although** _ **run by**_ **Don Vargas, have** _ **Lovino and Feliciano's names**_ **, as this would ensure that in case of a police investigation, his grandsons would take the fall and not the Don himself. But since this means Lovi and Feli are the legal owners of these businesses, they also have the legal right to sell them. Now that Vash has organised all the paperwork,** _ **all Lovino needs now is Feli's signature and the signature of the buyer (Ivan) to make the sale complete.**_

 **Sorry, I felt that was necessary since this chapter is, admittedly, a little complicated.**

 **Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	5. Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks

**A/N: I would like to clarify that Emil is** _ **not**_ **dead :) Ivan just threatened him. He still has a role to play, haha… Anyway, I'm sorry if that scene with Ivan and Emil was confusing!**

 **Emma – Belgium**

" **Hitting the beds" – to my understanding "beds" is a term for a hideout: apartments and/or safe houses where members of the mafia go to keep a low profile, usually during a mafia war.**

* * *

"Your brother came by." Arthur set a cup of coffee down for Alfred. The kid probably needed to unwind, and making one cup of coffee for him wasn't such a terrible task. "Matthew? I mistook him for you."

Alfred took his cup with a grateful smile. "People do that a lot."

Dropping Francis off at Sicily Mansion, Alfred had driven straight to the police station, suddenly exhausted. Gun fights, of course, could do that. It was mid-afternoon and there were two boxes of Chinese take-out on Arthur's desk. Alfred's hands shook just a little as he reached out for one of them.

Arthur sat opposite him, taking his own box, and saying, "I spoke to a senior cop, a friend of mine called Emma." When Alfred glanced up curiously, he went on, "she has decided to help us in getting The Book."

"Yeah? How?"

Arthur's cheeks turned a little bit pink. "Well, how do I put it…Francis likes women, and incidentally, she is one."

Alfred lowered his coffee cup. "Oh." Then, "is that…is she okay with that?"

"She's done it before."

"Oh."

Chief Lars Jansen suddenly appeared at the door. "Kirkland, Jones. My office. Now."

* * *

Antonio groaned. On the way back from Zwingli's house, there was a traffic jam. He sat back in his seat, said something rude about commuters and car-consumerism before pouting and falling silent. Lovino's soft laughter became slightly more audible.

"It's not funny, Lovino! Traffic jams are so annoying! And if people bought less cars, this wouldn't happen! Anyway, it's bad for the environment. You know they're meeting in Paris to discuss that, right?"

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "You care about the environment?"

"The environment gives us tomatoes, Lovino," he replied seriously.

"Of course." He tried to force away an idiotic grin. But Antonio put his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a soft chuckle, and that was when Lovino lost it. He had no idea where the laughter was coming from, considering nothing all that funny had happened, but it felt so good. He'd missed this.

Antonio was just staring at him. "You sound good."

"W-what?" Lovino asked breathlessly as he stopped, shaking his head as he stared out of the open window at the endless stream of cars.

"Your laugh. It's very lovely."

Lovino looked at Antonio now. "What do you want from me, exactly?"

"What do you mean?"

"We've had sex. That's it, right? Do you want something more? Something more significant? Because the both of us might be dead this time next week."

Antonio smiled softly and stared straight ahead. "What better time, then?"

They said nothing.

Lovino reached for the steering wheel and squeezed Antonio's hand.

* * *

Francis reached Sicily Mansion with his arm in a sling and bags under his eyes. Gilbert was on his feet in an instant, dragging him to the couch and forcing him to lay down. Francis clicked his tongue in annoyance but didn't otherwise protest.

"What the hell happened?" Gilbert demanded.

He muttered something in French. "Braginsky's men ambushed us, but we got away. That Thomas fellow saved my life. And I'm not hurt very badly. I'm just drowsy from the pain medicines I took."

"You guys were ambushed?" Gilbert began to pace. "This is getting bad, isn't it?"

Francis sat up on the couch, giving one of his oldest friends a concerned stare.

"Antonio has arrived too, by the way."

"What?"

"Yeah, I don't know where he is now, but he heard about Romeo and came here on his own."

"I want to meet him!"

"You will eventually." Gilbert cussed in German before flopping down on a sofa chair. "Francis," he whispered, nervous. "Francis, it's getting bad out there."

The blonde got to his feet and squeezed Gilbert's shoulder. "Put a guard on Elizabeta. If you must, move her to your hideout. You know they won't attack her. Ivan doesn't care one way or another about her."

"What about Ludwig, huh?"

Francis lowered his eyes for a moment, before bringing them back to Gilbert with a determined steeliness. "You should be more worried about yourself." He paused.

Gilbert shoved Francis, uncaring about his injury. "I need a drink," he snapped, going to the kitchen.

"Vodka?" Francis called after him. "You liked vodka, once, remember?"

The only response was the kitchen door slamming loudly shut.

* * *

As the traffic started moving, Antonio took a detour off the main road. "It's going to be pretty slow still, and I know a shortcut," he said confidently. Ten minutes later, they were lost.

And _where_ were they lost.

Lovino didn't dare turn his head, but from the lowered window on his side, he could see the Cyrillic alphabet on shop windows. Men – in suits and plainclothes – visibly tensed and stared as the black van cruised down the road.

"Antonio."

"I know," Antonio replied in a low voice. "Russian territory."

"They've recognised me."

"Roll up the windows."

"What good will that do?"

Antonio kept driving, slow and calm. "They're made of bullet-proof glass."

So that's why he didn't want to drive in Lovino's BMW. But Lovino had a feeling if he so much as moved a muscle – even to roll up the windows, things would go straight to hell. The Russians would open fire, and the two of them would be shot to tatters.

"Okay," Antonio declared slowly, perhaps having the exact same train of thought. "Roll up the windows and take the wheel. And just keep driving. Let me handle this."

"Take the wheel?" Lovino repeated, moving his hand towards the up and down buttons of both the windows. He pressed them. The windows went up. The Russians on the street began taking out their guns.

"In three." Antonio began to take his feet off the pedals and on the seat. The car started slowing down further. "Two." He left the steering, and Lovino's reached forward to hold it. "One." And suddenly Antonio moved, jumping off the seat and to the back of the van. Lovino found himself in the driver's seat.

"Antonio, they're about to open fire!"

Antonio suddenly opened the sunroof and stuck his upper body out of it, and the only word Lovino could register was his partner bellow, "DRIVE!"

At the exact same moment, a tornado of bullets wracked the van. The vehicle tore on, and Lovino heard the raging, ear-splitting _thaka-thaka-thaka-thaka-thaka-thaka_ of machine guns. Antonio's 'supplies' in the back of his van – weapons, of course.

Lovino had never been more aware of driving – and never more aware of how just speeding the van and moving _go-go-go!_ would save their lives if he just drove faster, faster, fasterfasterfaster _fasterfaster_ –

"Guh!" Antonio grunted before his whole body slid, limp, into the seat beside Lovino, and the first thing he thought was, _fuck, he's dead._

And then he was aware of the silence. No more guns. It was over.

Antonio was breathing desperately and deeply. His hand reached forward and he lowered his window, taking in needy gulps of oxygen. He kept his hand on his heart, but for the life of him, Lovino could see no blood.

Antonio pressed his head into the dashboard, steadying his breathing. Lovino dared to slow down a bit. "Have you been shot?" he finally asked, and Antonio shook his head.

"No," he rasped. "Well, kinda."

"How do you _kinda_ get shot?"

"I'm wearing a bullet-proof vest, and a bullet hit me in the ribs, and now all the wind's knocked out of me. It's fine," he went on, between gasps of air. "I just need to catch my breath. I haven't broken any bones, but this fucking hurts."

Lovino just stared at Antonio, now pressing his head back into the seat and taking deliberately slow breaths. His window was down, but Lovino's wasn't – and Lovino could see how all the glass had fogged over and cracked, bullets still lodged inside it. And in the distance, he could see a man with a gun, aiming at Antonio's head.

So Lovino acted on instinct.

He took out his gun and fired it.

And thirty meters away, the bullet found its mark.

Antonio raised his head just in time to see the last attacker pitch forward in a pool of blood. "Nice shot."

"I am somewhat of a sharpshooter," Lovino replied elegantly. "Now let's get the fuck out of here."

* * *

"We've just had reports of a gunfight in Clobrook Lane." Chief Lars gestured to the two empty chairs as he sat behind his desk. "It has a sizable Russian population, and there have been twenty casualties – all of them known Russian mob members." He looked at Arthur. "Kirkland, this is going to be a media shitstorm, I want you to go handle it."

"I'll go too," Alfred declared boldly.

"No," Arthur snapped. "You're still undercover, and I don't want you appearing on camera."

* * *

According to the tracking app, Lovino was still at home. This mollified Ludwig for exactly five minutes, until he found Lovino's cellphone still on the dining table, where Ludwig had left it. He knew the password. He could unlock it and do some snooping. His hunches had never been wrong before.

"Oh! Is that Lovi's phone in your hand?" Ludwig suddenly jumped when Feliciano's small fingers reached out for his, and their hands brushed as Feli took the phone from Ludwig. He tilted his head and went on, "what are you doing with Lovi's phone?"

"I just found it," Ludwig replied, and this was technically true.

"Hmm," Feli said. "Lovi must have forgotten it." He looked around. "Where _is_ Lovi, anyway? And Antonio?"

At that exact moment, the front door flew open and in came the noises of laughter. Ludwig was not prepared for the sight he saw. Lovino. Laughing. _Lovino._ He almost never laughed – not like this. Not so freely. He could smirk, chuckle, snort, sneer and retort, but he could not laugh.

But here he was, one hand on Antonio's arm to steady himself as he pitched forward, howling. " – and it was all _bambambam_ and you were like _gah_ and I thought holy shit, this guy's mincemeat – " he broke off to laugh some more. Antonio was chuckling along too. Lovino rasped, "I'm so fucking high on adrenaline right now, I don't know what to _do_!"

"And the way you shot that straggler." Antonio made his voice higher, firmer. " _I'm somewhat of a sharpshooter_ – quotable!"

"Fuck yeah!"

Feliciano was looking between the two with a lost, confused smile. "What's so funny?" he finally asked.

Lovino flopped down on the sofa. "We nearly died! Fuck!" before erupting in another round of cackles.

"What happened?" But this time, it was neither Feli nor Ludwig who spoke – it was Don Vargas. And he didn't sound very happy. Lovino sat up abruptly, falling silent, and Antonio chewed his bottom lip, his gaze expectant as he looked at Lovino. "Where did you two vanish off to?" The Don went on, stepping forward. He was glaring.

"We were…ah…" Lovino stared, "…Antonio?"

Antonio rolled his eyes. "I took stock of your weapons inventory, Godfather, and I was not impressed. There's a war on the horizon and you guys are using machine guns from five years ago! So I decided to buy some. I know a guy who sells. Lovino, here, didn't trust me, and insisted on coming along. Bottom line – we've bought some machine guns, and we had to use one because we strayed into Russian territory and nearly got shot to hell. But we didn't. Because of me."

The Don glanced between his grandson and Antonio, before finally resting on the hitman's face. "You strayed into Russian territory?"

Lovino rubbed his face, suddenly looking a lot more tired than he had two minutes ago. "Turn on the news. I'm sure there's something there."

Suddenly, someone yelled, "TONI!"

Francis tore out of the bathroom, one hand still in a sling, and pulled his old friend into a hug.

* * *

" – fifteen people have been killed, and five more remain critically injured. The area has no security cameras, and police are looking for any witnesses to the massacre. If you have any information, please phone in at – " Ivan turned off the TV.

"The war has begun," he said simply. His steely eyes found Eduard. "We're hitting the beds."

* * *

About half an hour before his brother and Antonio shot twenty Russians from a moving van, Feliciano had been drinking espresso in his room. He'd been really…tired. Lovino thought he was a crybaby, and perhaps that was true, but increasingly, Feli just found himself getting exhausted at the memory of his dead family. He missed his mother the most. Sometimes at night, just before sleep took him, he could swear he could smell he perfume.

And Romeo. Feli still couldn't believe it. And he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but sadness about it. Grandpa was angry. Grandpa was full of hate. Feli didn't really hate anybody. He'd never even killed anybody. Not directly, anyway. He knew his hands weren't clean, that he'd planned many executions and attacks himself. What would his mother think about that?

There was a knock on the door, and without waiting, his grandfather opened it and peeped in. "My office. Now."

"Coming," Feli sighed, finishing his espresso in one gulp and hoping it'd be enough to keep him going through the afternoon.

His grandfather was alone in his office, smoking a cigar. Feliciano sat opposite him and offered a tiny smile. "How are you doing, grandpa?"

His grandpa waved him off. "These Russians," he began. "Will pay."

"They will," Feliciano agreed. He didn't care one way or another anymore. It was just best to keep Don Vargas happy.

"I want your advice as consigliere."

"Oh." Feliciano sat up straighter.

"I've been thinking of a plan to lay siege to Ivan's house."

Feliciano blinked. "His _house_?"

His grandfather nodded. "Maximum casualties that way."

"That," Feliciano began, haltingly, "is the worst idea I have ever heard."

His grandfather had a stormy frown on his face. He hated being spoken to like that, and hated Feliciano's point-blank tone of voice. "Excuse me?" he said, and Feliciano knew that was his chance to amend his statement and say something more sycophantic, but he didn't take it.

"I've never heard you say something more foolish before," Feli barreled on. "I think it's a terrible idea. We must _not_ attack Ivan Branginsky's home. There's nothing stopping him from attacking ours if we do that. Don't break the code, grandpa. We don't attack family homes, we don't attack relatives. And don't bring Romeo into this, because we need to rise above and deal with this situation a little less belligerently. Your line of thought will spell the eventual end of our organization!"

His grandfather lowered his cigar, blew out smoke, and laughed. "You're young, Feli, you don't know what you're saying."

Feli gritted his teeth. He hated it when his grandfather took this condescending attitude towards him. Sometimes he just wanted to say, _why did you ask me to be your special advisor in the first place?_ Feliciano had never begged to be consigliere. His grandfather had simply decided it for him, because Feli had a far more level head than Lovino did. (Still, Lovi had been doing a lot better in that department. Feli was so proud of him. He hadn't assaulted anyone in over two years!).

"We'll discuss this with the others, all right? I'm sure even Antonio would have something interesting to say. And I'm sure he'll agree with me."

Antonio. Feli didn't know or care to know a thing about him.

"Fine." He stood up. "If that's all." He was going to have another espresso. He'd probably regret it later, but for now he needed something to keep the exhaustion at bay.

Feli realised Lovi was missing just as his brother returned. Feli had Lovi's phone in his hand, and he almost dropped it when he saw what was happening in front of him. He tried to glance at Ludwig, to see what his friend wasthinking, but Ludwig just stared dead ahead.

"What's so funny?"

Lovi was laughing. And Antonio was laughing with him.

And it was _cute._

Well, Feli wasn't blind. He'd noticed how Antonio kept glancing at his brother when he thought Lovi wasn't looking. He'd been doing that pretty much all morning. And Feli knew that expression, because he looked at Ludwig the same way. Feliciano had always had suspicions about his brother's preferences, ever since that one time the two of them went to a bar, and a pretty girl flirted with Lovino all night, and he flirted back, and then quietly went home alone. Feli lost his virginity to her that night, in her bedroom while her flatmate was out. He liked girls. And boys. And these were not things they spoke about at home.

Here Lovi was, laughing like he never had before. Antonio was laughing with him. Lovino's hand was on Antonio's arm to steady himself, but Feli was pretty sure his brother was also making a move. For a moment, Feliciano felt embarrassed. And then he wanted to giggle.

But he swallowed all his mirth as his brother started explaining things. So they'd had a shootout in a Russian neighbourhood. Somehow they were still alive. The lady on the news said twenty people had been hurt and killed.

Then they found themselves in grandpa's office with a city map on the table and a blue ball pen to make markings.

"I'm thinking of attacking Ivan at his home," his grandfather explained.

Before he could stop himself, Feli interjected, "And I think it's a terrible idea."

His grandfather shot him a cold look.

"It _is_ a terrible idea," Antonio said suddenly, his voice soft. It wasn't soft like Feli's could get when he was sad or sleepy. Antonio's voice was as soft as frostbite. It almost felt as though if Feli spent too much time listening to it, his toes would fall off. Gilbert took a step away from the desk, which was so uncharacteristic of him. Antonio came even closer, pressing his palms on the map. Lovino watched him.

"I'm sorry, Don Vargas, but this has not been your best brainwave. First of all, Braginsky's house is a fortress. Just storming past the gate will cost us more men than we can afford to lose. Secondly, even if we get past the security, what good will it do? Ivan is like you, Godfather. The emperor of a business that has its claws in many parts of the country and even the world. Finding an heir to it won't be a problem. Braginsky has several people in line for the job. He'd organised that way, he's taken care of all his affairs. Killing him and his family would be a very short-term blow to the actual _structure_ of the organization." Antonio's green eyes glinted as he looked at the Don. "We hit where it hurts the most: their wallets."

Nobody said anything, but Francis and Feli exchanged silent glances.

Antonio took the ball pen and circled a single road on the map. "This is the artery of Branginsky's supply chain. This road goes straight to the docks, from where he smuggles drugs, arms, sometimes even art and other rare commodities. It's heavily guarded, of course. But if we can take it, and _keep_ it, it will obstruct Braginsky's businesses. He'll lose millions every passing hour. We can expect serious retaliation, of course, but if we capture this road, we'll cause maximum damage."

But he wasn't done talking.

"Teams of two and three must attack at the road's guarded points. One of our men can scope them out. We attack quickly and softly, using guns with silencers or, if we want to be more cautious, razor wire. And then – "

"Where the hell will we get razor wire from?" Ludwig snapped. Feliciano's blood went cold when Antonio looked up at Ludwig, raising an eyebrow. The man was annoyed. Angry, even.

"Don't interrupt him," Gilbert quietly explained. To Antonio, he said, "sorry about that. Continue."

Feli noticed Ludwig open and shut his mouth. A hard frown found its way onto his features. Luddy really, really didn't like Antonio, did he?

"As I was saying," Antonio went on tartly, "once we have possession of the road, we capture the trucks moving into the docks. Those will be Ivan's trucks, and they might not be heavily guarded. I say we use a sniper to kill the drivers – I can do it myself, if the Don so wishes. I don't want to use bombs under the trucks, since it's far too random, and the chances of causing civilian deaths is way too high. The whole operation must be clean, quick and efficient. It shouldn't grab too much attention. Above all, it shouldn't make a mess."

The silence that fell when Antonio finished was unlike anything Feli had ever heard before. All eyes were on Antonio, and grandpa's cigar had burnt out. His jaw was set. And if Feli didn't know any better, he'd think that his grandfather was _nervous._

Lovino swallowed. "Maybe it's time we get some beds."

"I know a few locations," Francis replied. "From the last war."

"No," Antonio said. "Ivan will attack those first. He'll know where those are. Find new spots, Francis."

Don Vargas got to his feet. "Well, that's settled, then. We can discuss the specifics after lunch."

* * *

"Liz!" Gilbert called, ringing the doorbell. "Look who's come for dinner!"

Elizabeta peered through the peephole. It was only Gilbert and Ludwig, so she opened the door. Her husband kissed her. Eliza then kissed Ludwig's cheeks. "You should have phoned me, I would have made something more interesting to eat."

"It's only me," Ludwig replied with one of his softer smiles as he was led into the living room. Gilbert threw him a beer. The TV was going on about some cooking program before Elizabeta turned it off.

Dinner, as Elizabeta had predicted, was tense. Gilbert was on edge; he had been for a few days now. Ludwig was nervous too, and more than anything, he was being a little shady. Ludwig never let anyone in on all his thoughts, but Elizabeta knew when he was hiding something, because he'd done it before, and it had very nearly gone unnoticed.

Gilbert was on his second beer when he finally asked. "So, you wanted to come over for dinner. Is everything okay, Lud?"

Ludwig was also famously asocial. To invite himself over for dinner, even at his brother's home, was unusual. The blonde swallowed his mouthful of okra. "I don't know," he replied, before his blue eyes lowered, and studied the floral patterns on his dinner plate.

"You don't know?"

"It's about Antonio."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it's actually about Lovino." Ludwig's lips seemed to become a thin line. "I think he's up to something."

Gilbert stood up at that exact moment. "Liz, can you give us a minute?"

For a moment, Elizabeta had a vision of pushing him back in his seat. She hated them discussing business over dinner, because she was not part of the conversation, and seldom even allowed to be in the same room.

She almost left.

And then she didn't.

"No. I will not give you a minute. Gilbert, sit down." She watched him frown. "I do not appreciate you two discussing work over dinner, and I do not appreciate being dismissed in the middle of a meal. You two are going to stay here, talk about sports and the weather, and finish the food that I've slaved over. This is my house too, Gilbert, and I have the right to sit at my dining table and eat."

Gilbert slowly sat, and averted his eyes. "Sorry."

"Yes," Ludwig added softly. "We're sorry."

Elizabeta resumed eating, silent and irritated. Nobody spoke until dinner was over. She went to the bedroom, got ready for bed, and as a ritual, dug deep into her wardrobe and picked out a tiny little teddy bear with stitched-up eyes and padded black paws. She held it to herself and imagined she was hugging a baby instead. She hated her body. Children died in there.

* * *

"Lovino is being really shifty," Ludwig declared when they were alone. "I've been watching him. I think he knows Antonio. I think he called Antonio here."

Gilbert shook his head. "That's impossible and I'll tell you why. Don Vargas is the only one who knows how to contact Antonio. He keeps the number locked in his safe." Admittedly, however, it was an old-fashioned safe that needed a key. Don Vargas didn't believed in the fickleness of electronic safes. He didn't trust technology. Gilbert, meanwhile, had trouble trusting his brother. Something had shattered between them after they defected from Ivan's crew. Ludwig hadn't even been the best man at Gilbert's wedding, Francis had. Ludwig never complained about it, because he knew that the sacred friendship he'd had with his brother was gone now. But it hurt him.

This was one of the many things the brothers never spoke about. Words failed them. Words could lie.

"This afternoon," Ludwig went on, "after Antonio and Lovino shot those Russians, Antonio said they'd gone to buy weapons. Where, pray, are those weapons?"

"Buying weapons isn't like grocery shopping, Ludwig, for god's sake."

"How do you even know Antonio?"

Gilbert almost snarled. "Like Francis, he had my back when you put a knife through it. He and Francis convinced Don Vargas to shelter us from Ivan. We owe our lives to him, and don't you forget it." And then, "you ungrateful little shit."

The words hit Ludwig like a punch in the stomach. They knocked the wind out of him. He didn't dare say anything about tracking Lovino's phone. Gilbert, he decided, was not on his side.

"I'm going home," Ludwig declared archly, squaring his shoulders as he made for the door. Gilbert didn't stop him. Gilbert didn't say anything at all.

* * *

 _A Bedtime Story Without a Happy Ending_

Once upon a time, in a desolate little neighbourhood, there were three friends: Ivan, Gilbert and Ludwig. They grew up dirt poor, hungry and desperate. Ivan and Gilbert joined the local gang and rose through the ranks. Ludwig joined too, but later, and when he was a little older. They were unstoppable.

Ivan became a mob boss. Gilbert became his second-in-command. They were the best of friends.

Until the war.

Ivan was supporting the Wangs against the Vargas family.

"You're selling information to Don Vargas? Why?"

"Because – because – "

"How much," a growl, "how much did they offer you?"

"…a lot."

"We have to get out of here. Before Ivan finds out."

Ivan found out, though. He found out that Beilschmidt was selling information.

"Why did you betray me, Gilbert?" Anger. Tears.

Gilbert kept a stiff upper lip. "Money," he said simply.

And then the brothers ran.

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

Lovino shut the motel room door and put his phone in his pocket. Antonio pushed him against a wall, kissing him ferociously, demandingly. "Fuck off," Lovino snapped, pushing the other man off him. He almost felt a jolt of surprise at the injured expression Antonio gave him. "What the hell was that today?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"In the meeting. Razor wire, guns with silencers, laying siege to Ivan's supply road, whatever the _fuck_! What was that? You're supposed to be working for me, and a war between us and the Russians is the last thing my plan needs right now!"

Antonio narrowed his eyes, moved to the table and picked up a newly-bought bottle of wine. He was backing Lovino when he spoke. "What do you think, Lovi?"

"Don't fucking call me _Lovi._ "

"Your family calls you Lovi, and I always work on a first-name-familiarity basis, so deal with it." He poured himself some wine in a plastic cup. "If I didn't act like myself, your grandfather would know something was wrong. You're planning a very elaborate game under his nose, but don't, for even one second, thing he's stupid. You're going to have to make your plan work despite the war, because that's inevitable at this point."

"You _fool_!" Lovino hissed. Antonio's planning meant that the Vargas family would be in a far more powerful position than Ivan. Which would be great if Lovino was on his grandfather's side. But he needed Ivan to be powerful, needed Ivan to be rich. Ivan needed to be able to buy the Vargas's clean off their assets.

Antonio lowered his cup and set it on the table. He turned, his eyes appraising Lovino. "Let me ask you something, Lovi, and I want you to answer honestly. If the time comes, are you prepared to kill your grandfather?"

Lovino could only stare.

"Are you prepared to kill _Feliciano_?" Antonio went on. "Because Feli may not be on your side, and he might work against you. It's all very good to plot against your family, but things get complicated if you're still invested in their well-being." Before Lovino could answer, Antonio went on, "if you can't kill them, can you, in good conscience, give me the order to do it for you? Because if you can't have them killed, Lovino, your plot has very little hope for success."

It took several minutes, but finally, Lovino swallowed. "We'll succeed. Don't you worry."

Antonio snorted. "If you say so."

Lovino had to shut him up, to distract him, to make him just drop the conversation. So he crossed the room, pushed Antonio onto the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt.

* * *

Outside Antonio's motel, Ludwig waited in a car. Lovino's phone had led him here. Should he do something? Follow his instincts and go inside? He didn't know, he didn't know. _Traitor_ , his brain told him. _Traitor, traitor, Ludwig the traitor._

* * *

 _A Fact_

Gilbert did not betray Ivan Braginsky.

Ludwig did.

And Gilbert took the fall for him.

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

 **A/N: The Gilbert-Ludwig-Ivan thing is going to be important, trust me. So let me recap on that. Ivan thinks Gilbert betrayed him by selling information to the Vargases. But that's only because Gilbert took the fall for his brother. The real traitor is Ludwig. That's why Ivan is far more interested in Gilbert's life. That's why Gilbert is under greater threat.**

 **Also, before I forget, you need to check out an AMV on Youtube. It's called: "APH – Mafia Romano – Little Italy" by APH-AMV-e3. It's the best Mafia!Romano video ever, and it's what got me into Mafia AUs in the first place. So if you haven't seen this, you totally should.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading! Please review :)**


	6. The Bad Cop

**A/N: There are mentions of pairings here that would, under normal circumstances, be considered rarepairs or crack pairings. For plot reasons I'm not going to give them away, but rest assured, if you don't ship them (and you probably don't), you don't have to worry – they're just small scenes and loose mentions here and there.**

 **Also, fair warning: this chapter may not have much Spamano because I've got to move the plot forward with the other characters too. And I'm sorry if this one is a little scattered. There's a lot on my plate right now, my mind's not really functioning properly.**

* * *

Arthur pressed his head against the window, his phone still pressed to his ear even though the conversation had ended a full ten seconds ago. He had such an awful headache, his stomach was churning and even though he wanted nothing more than to sleep, he wouldn't be able to relax. Not when the streets were getting more and more violent.

That was how Alfred found him when he entered Arthur's office with some tea and more Chinese food. It was dark outside. And raining.

"Artie?" he asked slowly, "…is everything okay?"

Finally Arthur lowered his phone, dumping it in the pocket of his blazer. "Someone murdered the two cops who were watching Sicily Mansion."

"Shit," Alfred muttered.

Arthur turned, finally looking at the younger man. "It shouldn't be such a surprise to me. It was a dangerous assignment. But I'm still…I'm just disgusted," he admitted, lowering his eyes.

"You need to go home."

"I need to keep working."

"It's past dinnertime anyway. Everyone else has left. You need to sleep, man." Alfred paused, and then added, "besides, you want to be in top condition to brief Emma tomorrow. Now _she_ is on a dangerous assignment."

Arthur pressed the bridge of his nose. _Fuck, fuck, fucking hell_ , he kept thinking. He was so tired.

"And after this, can I recommend a holiday in the Bahamas?"

"Ew, I'd get sunburned."

"Go to bed, Arthur."

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

Berwald was on the verge of sleep when his phone rang. He almost considered ignoring it, but that would be foolish. He knew it was Ivan. Instinct. And years of being Ivan's advisor. Post-midnight phone calls were always of the confidential sort. So he reached out to find his phone from somewhere on the nightstand, answered it and pressed it to his ear.

Ivan spoke without waiting for Berwald to say hello.

"Keep an eye on Emil, I don't trust him."

"What do you mean?" Berwald drawled.

Ivan sounded a little nervous. "I don't know. I have a bad feeling. I think he's going to kill Gilbert."

Oh god, this again. Berwald sat up, rubbing his face and yawning as softly as he could. "If Gilbert dies, it's one less person we need to worry about. Besides, he deserves death for what he did to us."

There was silence on the other end for so long, Berwald nearly fell asleep with the phone still at his ear.

"But," Ivan started, "I…I don't…I _can't_ …"

"You can't kill him."

"I never could."

"Pakhan Braginsky, I can't agree with your sentimentality. I think it's dangerous. But fine, if you so insist, I'll make sure Emil Bondevik is watched carefully."

"Good. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." Berwald yawned, loudly this time. "And if that's all…"

"Yes, yes, goodnight." And the line went dead.

* * *

 _Why Emil Wants to Hurt Gilbert Beilschmidt_

The answer is simple, really. Love.

* * *

In the end, Antonio's plan worked. It was bound to. The Italians ambushed their Russian enemies just before dawn, when the city was only starting to wake up, and the Russians were tired from a night of keeping watch. The road they were fighting over was the lifeblood of Ivan's supply chain in the city, and while not geographically placed in Russian territory, it was still considered Russian turf. Ivan's men were stationed at every hundred meters. Lovino could recognise Lukas and Ravais. They sat, carelessly, with the windows of their car rolled completely down.

Hubris, nothing else. To be such easy targets in such a tense atmosphere.

Razor wire. Antonio provided that, of course. Nobody asked him where he got it from, and he wasn't exactly very forthcoming himself. Lovino, Flavio, Luciano, Ludwig, Gilbert and Francis got into position in their respective little buildings and alleys. Antonio was at a window with a rifle.

It was over in twenty minutes. Quietly. Efficiently. Twelve bodies, including Lukas and Ravais.

* * *

Everyone had their little plans. Ivan had his, slowly forming, and Arthur had his too. Ivan's plan formed from the edge of a stack of dollar notes, handed to a Swiss businessman by the name of Vash Zwingli. Arthur's plan walked into his office wearing a shimmering black dress and strawberry red lipstick. Arthur's plan had hazel hair. Arthur's plan made Alfred drop his jaw.

Emma pecked Arthur's cheek in greeting. "You smell of dirty laundry, Kirkland," she teased, her eyes fixing on Alfred. "And hello there, you must be Jones."

"Uh," Alfred replied intelligently.

Emma giggled. She was, of course, the sort of woman who knew the kind of effect she had. Schemes and plots could be as elaborate as ever, but everyone fell prey to lust. The sun had just set outside. The Italians had scored a victory over the Russians (it was all over the news.) They'd be celebrating in one of their favourite bars. _Giovanni's._

According to their surveillance, Francis Bonnefoy visited _Giovanni's_ quite often. When Emma walked in with her too-high heels, her little dress and her mysterious red smile, she could feel them all looking at her. They were all mafia, of course. _Giovanni's_ paid Don Vargas for protection. Emma found a barstool, signalled for a Pina Colada and in her mind, counted backwards from thirty.

She was on number 23 when a handsome blonde with his hair tied back slid up to her, with a dark purple shirt and black vest. The slight stubble on his chin made him look somewhat exotic, and his smile was warm and wistful. "Now tell me, _ma cherie,_ what is a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Emma didn't even look at him. "Whoever said I was _nice_?" Green eyes gave the man a sideways look, and she knew she had him.

Francis let out a soft laugh, the sort of thing that would be honestly attractive if Emma didn't know what he did for a living. "My mistake, pardon me. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Don't waste my time." Emma turned, shoulders squared, leaning forward just a little bit, just enough for him to see the line of her cleavage. "You want me?"

Francis's blue eyes widened for a moment, and then another deceptively gentle smile lit his features. "You're a little eager. You aren't…"

"No, I'm not a hooker." Emma batted her lashes at that, glancing away. "I've just had the _worst_ break up, and I need a little alone time."

His hand on hers was warm. "My place is perfectly secluded."

She raised an eyebrow. "You better not be a predator."

He snickered lightly. "Darling, the only dangerous one here is you. We've got to get you away from everyone else."

Emma smiled, red lips carefully parting her face. "Pay for my drink."

Francis placed a ball of cash on the counter, and Emma slipped off the chair. With one hand lightly on her back, they left the bar.

* * *

Feli had a headache. This did not happen often, but when it did, nothing but a dark room and sleep could help. His blankets were covering his head completely as he pressed his face into his pillow, forcing his mind to relax. It didn't work, of course. He kept thinking of his brothers. Romeo, who could have done so many things if he was just given the chance, and Lovino, who grew more distant every day. Nobody had noticed it yet, how Lovi had utterly drawn into himself after Romeo's murder. How he was quieter at dinner, less belligerent with Luciano and Flavio. He would go on trips alone – long drives, long nights. Feli woke up pretty early, and he was usually brushing his teeth when Lovino's heavy footsteps would walk past the hallway. Where did he go? Which stranger's bed would he lie in? Was it Antonio?

Feliciano's bedroom door opened and a small blade of light from the hallway entered. Feli didn't have to see it to know; his headache increased anyway. He recognised his brother's footsteps, and felt Lovino's familiar weight at the foot of the bed.

"I know you're awake," he said softly.

"Close the door."

"Okay."

When the room was completely dark again, Lovino sat back down. Things were silent for a few minutes, and Feli couldn't help but wonder about the chaos in his brother's mind.

"Do you want to be Don Lovino Vargas?" Feli asked, his voice only just above a whisper.

"What?"

"You heard me." Between them, there were very few secrets.

Feli was aware of his brother swallowing. "I don't want to answer that question."

"You don't want to face it."

"No, that's –" Lovino let the sentence shatter on his lips, before standing. "You should just rest. You've been looking a little peaky lately. That's why I came to check on you."

"Dealing with grief," Feli muttered before forcing himself in a sitting position. His head swam. "I'm getting sick of it, Lovi." The confession was hushed, full of fear and self-loathing.

He felt soft lips on his forehead, and strong hands pushed him back to the pillows. "Sleep, Feli. And I want you to see a doctor tomorrow. I've noticed how many espressos you've been having."

Feliciano pressed his temples. "I just haven't been eating properly."

Lovino's hand was cold when he touched Feli's forehead. "You're running a temperature."

"Don't worry about me."

Lovino let out a soft bark of a laugh.

"You're sleeping with Antonio, aren't you?"

There was silence.

"For god's sake, Lovino," Feli suddenly snapped. "Can you just _talk_ to me again?"

The bedroom door opened and Lovino's figure slowly crossed the threshold. But Feli could swear he heard his brother whisper, _"Yes_. _"_

The next morning, when Feli heard footsteps cross the hallway, he just turned his head to the wall and sighed. Secrets, secrets, what was this family without its secrets?

* * *

The little things, the little things. His bed was empty. His mind light. His arm hurt, but it was only dull. Good thing he hadn't worn his sling last night, or she wouldn't have agreed to go with him so easily. Francis had to fight to get out of bed, fighting an emptiness that always came with the morning after. These cheap thrills kept him entertained, at least for a while. He knew there was something dead inside him, something that prevented him from _feeling._ It was so easy, therefore, to listen to screaming, to cause deliberate, sadistic pain to his victims. From the inside, Francis was hollow, and the only thing that distracted him from it was sex.

She was gone, of course. Gone before the sun even rose properly, as it was with the women he slept with. He didn't expect anything more. In fact, it would be frightening if she'd stayed. Francis ambled to the bathroom and locked himself in, washing up, shaving, hell, bathing, just to get her off his skin. His bathroom tiles were pale purple, an admittedly feminine colour for a man of his profession, but he liked it all the same. His flat: small, cosy, lonely. He had a leather couch and plush cushions. Comforters and polished wooden cabinets. A glass cupboard for his liquor. Bookshelf over the flat-screen TV that he never turned on. It was an apartment meant to impress one-night-stands. Not a place to live.

He moved to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. He sat with his cup on the couch, alone, quiet, his mind blank and his soul still. That was when he noticed his bookshelf. It was usually perfectly aligned, but today morning, one of the books – a Charles Dickens novel – was tilting dangerously towards the edge of the shelf, threatening to fall to the floor.

This was…weird. Because he hadn't touched the bookshelf in weeks.

Putting his cup down on the coffee table, Francis narrowed his eyes as he got to his feet. He liked to hide things in the books. Well, in one book. His copy of Dante's _Divine Comedy_. He pulled it out. Into the pages, Francis had cut out a hole in which he hid things – pen drives, money, and locker keys.

The hole in the book was empty.

Francis dropped it in a panic.

* * *

 _Antonio's Problems_

Lovino's eyes like gold that had been locked away in a forgotten chest, and how they glittered when he looked at Antonio, as though saying, _find me._

Lovino's laugh, which was sharp and cruel and so, so sweet that Antonio could taste it on his tongue and it gave him a sugar rush. It was so secret, so wrapped up in layers of sadness and mistrust and bloodthirst, boxed into a systematic, calculating mind, that when it was allowed to show itself, it ripped out of his body and painted the sky pink.

Lovino's body, because of how it heaved under him, the way his chest would rise and fall, letting Antonio draw out moans of pleasure from Lovino's lungs, and the way his tongue pushed into Antonio's, demanding, desperate, because Lovino never wanted anything halfway, he was simply too passionate.

Antonio's heart, because every time Lovino looked at him, or held his hand, or cussed, something inside Antonio's battered, razor-sharp, fire-guarded soul would relax. Antonio did not want to kill anymore, he hadn't for a long time, and Lovino had given him something else to desire, something else to _need_ to give his evil existence some purpose.

The future, because they were probably going to die, but hey, _what if they didn't?_

What then?

 _~ Fin ~_

* * *

5.00 am.

 _ring ring ring ring ring_

"…Wha…"

"Alfred, wake up!" Arthur's irritated voice shouted from the other end of the phone, and Alfred wanted to throw his cell across the room, but he couldn't, because his arms felt too heavy.

" _ALFRED JONES, YOU WAKE UP RIGHT NOW._ "

"Artie…" Alfred groaned.

"And don't you 'Artie' me! Emma just got back from Francis's place and you won't _believe_ what she has."

"Not an STD, I hope," Alfred finally mumbled, rousing slightly only because Arthur mentioned Emma.

"Oh, haha," a feminine voice said into the phone. "Jones, you're on speaker. This is Emma. Get the fuck up, we have work to do."

"Ugh, _fine_!" Alfred sleepily snaps. "I'll be there in a bit." He said 'a bit' deliberately – that way he could take all the time he needs. Still, he pushed himself off bed and staggered a little. This was Matthew's spare room. Alfred had needed a place to stay while he was on this mob case in this city, and since his brother literally lived ten minutes from everywhere important, it had been the perfect solution.

Except that Alfred had, perhaps, a mildly irritating habit of waking Matthew up at 5.04 am asking him for - "Mattie, can you make me pancakes?"

"Alfred," Matthew mumbled, "get out of my room, close the door and go away." He turned on his side, pulled his blanket over his head and refused to say another word.

"…I'll take that as a no then."

Matthew didn't reply.

Alfred sighed. Must be _nice_ to be a children's writer. Why did Alfred decide to be a cop, again? Oh yeah, he wanted to be a hero. Hah. Hah. Hah.

Once he made it to Arthur's office, chugging coffee like an engine, Alfred was only mildly horrified to find Arthur there, with Emma, and Chief Lars, on his phone. Didn't these people _sleep_?

Emma, apparently, had stolen the key to a bank locker. _The_ bank locker. With The Book. And they were going to take it today morning. But would they do it the easy way, with a warrant? Nope. Because the Vargases had most of the judges in their pockets (because _of course_ they did), and any police rumbling would alert the Italians. "I just really hope Francis doesn't notice," Emma muttered.

"He probably will," Alfred replied helpfully.

"With our luck, yeah, probably."

Chief Lars got off the phone. "I've spoken to the bank manager."

"What's he doing awake?" Alfred asked.

Lars smiled. "He wasn't awake until fifteen minutes ago, Jones. Anyway, I woke him up, spoke to him, convinced him to turn off the CCTV cameras in the bank during our operation. I don't think we'll be able to turn off the cameras on the street. I'll try, but I'm not optimistic." They were turning off the cameras, of course, because nobody wanted the Vargases to know the team's faces. They already had Arthur's.

Alfred wondered for a moment what Arthur was thinking. He'd been on the trail of this family for months, years. The Book was going to be his big victory. "You can go get it out of the bank locker, if you want," Alfred heard himself say.

Arthur glanced up, unable to force away a grin. "Definitely."

* * *

 _Lovino's Problems_

Family drama. Underhanded deals. His conscience.

Antonio's lips.

And the way his heart beat several times faster when Antonio touched him.

This shouldn't be so wonderful because they're such bad people.

 _~Fin~_

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for this short chapter. College has officially restarted and I'm really busy. Don't know if I'll be able to update this very much. (In my defence, I did warn you that I've written this on a whim…)**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading so far. If I don't end up updating it, I'm sorry! Happy New Year, and good luck with all your plans for 2016!**

 **Also: I was going to ignore you, but I won't. To the spammer who anon-reviewed this fic: I'm really, really, truly sorry you had nothing better to do on Christmas Eve. I hope things work out better for you in 2016, so that you won't spend the holidays reading a story you clearly don't even like. *Hugs* Hang in there. It'll get better.**

 **Anyway, to everyone else: thanks for reading! Please review :D**


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